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BOM IT EN US if fiwit&lfetf

fv EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

AT THt
c t SIGN Of
IS

ST SW
FtCT
AHOR

stew*

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AMAZING STORIES

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JUNE
1941

VOLUME 15
NUMBER 6

STORIES

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM (Novel), s

■!. by Edgar Rice Burroughs. . 8

John Carter had to hide the magic in his sword arm, ancli'et k hao| to fight Barsoom's best blades-

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR (Novelet) .^b^r^es Norman.

Back into time they hurled — straight into the catastrophe that blotted-'-^Arners out of history!

THE GIRL FROM VENUS (Novelet) by V. Reed ...... •

Merrill was a romancing patrolman on penalty duty; just the wronq man to m"Ma princess in distress.

THE QUANDARY OF QUINTUS QUAGGLE (Short) oy^USn P. McGivern. .

A heck of a time to turn to stone— just when your job, your future, a nd ^WMl I depend on action:

PEPPER POT PLANET (Short) by DuncAT^rniv/ojth . . . •

There was something funny about this revolution, but Tonya believed m it, end TonVa' was beautiful . . .

HOMER HIGGINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER (Short) ... by Milton Kalehky 114

They laughed at Homer and tossed him out on his ear; but they stopped laughing when it began to rain

88
102

F E AT U R E S

The Observatory 6 Strange, But True

Ersatz 86

Cagliostro 87

Odd Science Facts 101

Forecast 131

Scientific Mysteries 132

135

Science Quiz 1 37

Meet The Authors 138

Discussions 140

Correspondence Corner 145

A City on Pluto 146

Front cover painting by J. Allen St. John, illustrating a scene from "Black Pirates Of Barsoom"
Back cover painting by Frank R. Paul, depicting "A City On Pluto"
Illustrations by J. Allen St. John, Julian S. Krupa, Robert Fuqua, Jay Jackson, Magarian, J oe Sewell-
Cartoons by Dick Shaw, Guy Gifford.

~~ Copyright, 1941, ZIFF-DAVIS PUBLISHING COMPANY

Member of the Audit Bureau of Circulations
William B. Zlff, Publisher; 8. G. Davli, Editor; J. Fred Hanry, Busineii Manager,
Raymond A. Palmer, Managing Editor, Herman R. Bollln, Art Director

We do not accept responsibility for the return of unsolicited manuscripts or artwork To facilitate handling, the
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lal

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608 South Dearborn St.. Chicago, III.

AMAZING
s-m. ir.s

J CNF,
1641

AMAZING STORIES

DO THE DEAD RETURN?

A strange man in Los Angeles, known
as "The Voice of Two Worlds," tells of
astonishing experiences in far-off and
mysterious Tibet, often called the land of
miracles by the few travelers permitted to
visit it. Here he lived among the lamas,
mystic priests of the temple. "In your pre-
vious lifetime," a very old lama told him,
"you lived here, a lama in this temple.
You and I were boys together. I lived on,
but you died in youth, and were reborn in
England. I have been expecting your
return."

The young Englishman was amazed as
he looked around the temple, where he was
■believed to have lived and died. It seemed
uncannily familiar, he appeared to know
every nook and corner of it, yet — at least
in this lifetime — he had never been there
before. And mysterious was the set of
circumstances that had brought him.
Could it be a case of reincarnation, that
strange belief of the East that souls re-
turn to earth again and again, living many
lifetimes?

Because of their belief that he had
formerly been a lama in the temple, the
lamas welcomed the young man with open
arms and taught him rare mysteries and
long-hidden practices, closely guarded for
three thousand years by the sages, which
have enabled many to perform amazing
feats. He says that the system often leads
to almost unbelievable improvement in
power of mind, can be used to achieve
brilliant business and professional success
as well as great happiness. The young man
himself later became a noted explorer and
geographer, a successful publisher of maps

and atlases of the Far East, used through-
out the world.

"There is in all men a sleeping giant of
mindpower," he says. "When awakened,
it can make man capable of surprising
feats, from the prolonging of youth to
success in many other worthy endeavors."
The system is said by many to promote
improvement in health; others tell of in-
creased bodily strength, courage and
poise.

"The time has come for this long-
hidden system to be disclosed to the
Western world," declares the author, and
offers to send his amazing 9000 word
treatise — which reveals many startling re-
sults — to sincere readers of this publica-
tion, free of cost or obligation. For your
free copy, address the Institute of Mental-
physics, 213 South Hobart Blvd., Dept.
201N, Los Angeles, Calif. Readers are
urged to write promptly, as only a limited
number of the free treatises have been
printed.

BUj|¥AT6gT

OFFHAND, we'd say you liked our big lSth
Anniversary issue! We want to thank all
our friends for their commenis, and for
the praise they gave to the work of the authors
included in the issue. The general concensus of
opinion was that never before had such a pleasant
surprise been handed out, even in spite of the fact
that we had widely heralded the nature of it.

■'Do it again !" was the most oft-repeated
phrase. Well, fifteen years is a long time to wait,
but if you insist . . . ! But maybe we won't wait
that long. It wouldn't be too hard to figure out
some other excuse to "do it again," or do we need
an excuse?

ACCORDING to Don
*• * Wilcox, we have a
little "unveiling" of
secrets to do. He asks us
to tell you that this of-
fice added a few minor
touches to his fine story,
"The Lost Race Comes
Back.'' His request, says
he, is to give credit where
credit is due. But here's
the real dope, readers.
Don's a swell writer, and
any editor can stick in a
few words here and there
without hurting it !

All of which we intend
to prove with a story
that's coming up soon
that'll knock your ears
offl Man, w : hat a yarn it
is! The best novel since

Taine's "White Lily," ten years ago, in Amazing
Storu-:s Quarterly! It's called ''Disciples of Des-
tiny." Keep your eye peeled for further announce-
ment. Huh? Of course, it's by Wilcox. Who'd
you think we meant ?

A \ ! D now that the anniversary is out of the
way, here's John Carter, back again with his
further adventures with Pan Dan Chee and his
lovely granddaughter, Liana of Gathol. Remember
the Black Pirates beneath the Valley Dor, and the

Sea of Doxus. Sure! Well, this yarn takes you
back there, and how !

FOR three months now we've been scheduling a
story by Henry Gade called "The Magnetic
Man" and each time it's been crowded out for
some reason or other. Now, we're scheduling it
again, for the July issue. Maybe it'll be there,
and we hope it is, because it's quite a different
little yarn. About a superman who . . . whoa,
don't go off half cocked . . . who i.^n't so super
as he thinks. We'll let you judge for yourself
when you read it. It's late, but good, we think,
in spite of being a super-
man story, because there's
an odd little bit of situa-
tion that we've never
seen before.

TN this issue you'll find
1 a yarn called "The
Quandary of Qu i nt us
Quaggle." There's an in-
teresting story behind the
writing of this one.

Some time ago, authors
William P. McGivern,
David Wright O'Brien,
and your editor, were in-
vited to speak before the
Chicago Fiction Guild.
Well, speeches aren't
much in an author's (or
an editor's) line, so a
rather unusual thine was
done. The three of us sat
down before that group
of writers and worked out ;i plot as per the specifi-
cations laid down by the audience. Their require-
ments were simply that it be for Amazing Stories,
be humorous, be laid in San Francisco, and be
short.

In something like forty-five minutes a complete
plot had been worked out, just as though the
authors had called on the editor with an idea to
discuss over a cup of coffee. That plot is realized
in this issue. McGivern wrote the story, and we
think he followed through excellently !

Must be the cold wave the
eather man predicted!"

AMAZING STORIES

SOMETIMES an editor is surprised by the re-
ception a story gets. He never knows exactly
how any story will rate, although he can tell to a
fair degree of accuracy which story in any par-
ticular issue will be most liked. The only time he
is stumped is when he puts something into the
book that is definitely off- trail. He probably put
it there because he sorta liked it himself. And he
hopes maybe the appeal it had to him would still
be there when the readers read it. So, having gone
off the deep end of what might be termed "edi-
torial solidity,' 1 he waits with slowly graying hair
for the readers to slam him back on his fading
reputation, or cheer him for being a "courageous"
editor. Don Wilcox's "Voyage That Lasted 600
Years" was such a story.

Coming soon Is another such story, this one by
David V. Reed. It's titled "Kid Poison." Our
"courage" here is tested
by the fact that the yarn
is just what its title im-
plies, a "kid" yarn. But
your editor thinks that if
you don't Hke it, you just
aren't as juvenile as he
thought you were — in
fact, he'll think you're
just an old fossil ! All of
which means we liked the
story and we hope you
do, because we need an-
other editorial "boost"
for our ego I

WE are going to
throw our desk
ruler away. Why? Well,
it isn't accurate! They've
discovered a better way
to measure thines. Who?
Oh, the scientists — you
know them, always put-
tering around with little
things like that . . .

Well, anyway, some of
the boys down at the
University of California have invented a new yard-
stick as a standard for measurement of length.
It's a ray with atoms of equal weight, emanating
from mercury made from gold (yeah, that's what
they said!). Its wavelength doesn't vary more
than one fifty-billionth of an inch. Which is a
far more accurate standard than the customary
cadmium wavelength.

Gee ! We never heard of that wavelength either I
Well, let's skip it; it's outmoded anyhow.

EVER hear of the Khymers? No? Wherein
heck have you been? They are the most
mysterious race in history. Lived in big cities in
the Cambodian jungles, a couple million of 'em,
and one night they packed up and left.

Sure. Vanished without a trace. Just like that.
And never came back. Where'd they go? Well,

your guess is as good as ours. But maybe not as
good as James Norman's.

Y'see, in this issue James has presented us with
a story about these Khymers, and it's a gol-danged
good yarn, full of everything that makes you glad
you stayed home in the easy chair instead of freez-
ing to death at the hockey game. It's "Lost Treas-
ure of Angkor." We advise you to read it now I

Y the way, it's illustrated by our new artist,
Magarian. We'd like to have your opinion
of this artist's work, since it is just a bit different
than the sort of thing Krupa, Fuqua, McCauley,
etc., turn out. You'll be seeing more of this new
artist. Let's have your comments, please. Inci-
dentally, the type of illustrating done here is rather
tedious, and the artist deserves a hand for hard
work. If you don't believe it, count the dots!

YOU think some of
the gadgets Krupa
imagines in his illustra-
tions are complicated?
Well, here's a real gadget
that'll make you whistle.
It's an ordinary (whoopa,
did we say ordinary?)
pocket watch. A rather
famous jeweler built it. '
It had a double face and
975 working parts.

It not only told time,
but it registered the day
of the week, a perpetual
calendar of months and
dates for a century ahead,
phases of the moon, the
four seasons, and actually
boasted a compass and
thermometer, a hygrom-
eter and barometer — and
most fascinating of all,
automatically struck
hours and quarters!

ALONG time ago we had a story in Amazing
Stories in which a plane went so fast it be-
gan to catch up with the sound of its own pro-
peller. Which isn't so amazing today, if the truth
be known.

According to aviation experts, the United States
now has several brand-new fighting planes that are
so fast it's actually dangerous for a pilot to "shoot
the works." The terminal velocity — maximum
speed — of some of these ships is around 700 m.p.h.
From a height of 30,000 feet, these lightning bolts
would hurtle down to sea level in twenty to thirty
seconds, if dived all-out. The pilot wouldn't have
time to pull the ship level after attaining 700
m.p.h.; he'd be in the drink by thenl

Which, to us, seems the least of the danger!
What about a man's rather fragile insides?
(Concluded on page 43)

"Oh clear! I've been simply frantic I
Junior's run away from home again!"

BLACK PIRATES

OF BARSOOM

by EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

The Black Pirates hailed the prowess of their
slave swordsman, but had they known he was
John Carter, he would have died on the spot!

LOOK! John Carter . . . there
ahead of us!"
It was Liana of Gathol who
spoke, and I was startled by the extreme
note of concern In her lovely voice. I
stopped suddenly, and Pan Dan Chee,
following in my footsteps, bumped into
me.

"What is it?" he asked.
I pointed ahead grimly.
"More than enough," I said, "if they
see us I "

In the distance, and to our left was a
caravan of green Martians. They had
not seen us, and they were so far away
that, for the moment, we were safe.
But I saw that we would have to find
shelter, or they would see us.

"Come," I said. "We've got to find a
place to hide. When the mists lift, they
will see us in this fiat area."

We had already covered some two
thousand five hundred haads of the
four thousand we had to travel to reach
Gathol, or at least as nearly as I could
compute it, with a minimum of unto-
ward incidents.

On two occasions we had been at-
tacked by banths but had managed to
kill them before they could harm us;

and we had been attacked by a band
of wild calots, but fortunately till now
we had met no human beings — of all
the creatures of Barsoom the most dan-
gerous. For here, outside of your own
country or the countries of your allies,
every man is your enemy and bent upon
destroying you; nor is it strange upon
a dying world the natural resources of
which have dwindled almost to the van-
ishing point and even air and water are
only barely sufficient to meet the re-
quirements of the present population.

The vast stretches of dead sea bot-
tom, covered with its ocher vegetation,
which we traversed was broken only
occasionally by low hills. Here in
shaded ravines we sometimes found
edible roots and tubers. But for the
most part we subsisted upon the milk-
like sap of the mantalia bush, which
grows on the dead sea bottom, though
in no great profusion.

We had tried to keep track of the
days since our departure from Horz,
and it was on the thirty-seventh day
during the fourth zode, which is roughly
about one P.M. earth time, that we saw
the caravan of green Martians.

As no fate can be worse than falling

AMAZING STORIES

into the hands of these cruel monsters,
we now hurried on in the hope of cross-
ing their path before we were discov-
ered. We took advantage of what cover
the sea bottom afforded us, which was
very little; oftentimes compelling us to
worm our way along on our bellies, an
art which I had learned from the
Apaches of Arizona.

I was in the lead, when I came upon
a human skeleton. It was crumbling
to dust, an indication that it must have
Iain there for many years, for so low is
the humidity on Mars that disintegra-
tion of bony structures is extremely
slow.

Within fifty yards I came upon an-
other skeleton and after that we saw
many of them. It was a gruesome sight,
and what it portended I could not guess.
At first I thought that perhaps a battle
had once been fought here, but when I
saw that some of these skeletons were
fresh and well preserved and that others
had already started to disintegrate I
realized that these men had died many
years apart.

At last I felt that we had crossed the
line of march of the caravan and that
as soon as we had found a hiding place
we would be comparatively safe, and
just then I came to the edge of a yawn-
ing chasm.

*Tf you will open your star atlas and turn to the
map of the Western Hemisphere of Mars, you will
be able to place the city of Horz on the principal
meridian about 47° North Latitude. Horz is an
ancient, supposedly uninhabited city deserted ages
ago when the great ocean upon which it stood
receded and eventually dried up. However, a tiny
remnant of the descendants of the ancient in-
habitants of the city still survived and lived
there in an impregnable citadel in the center of
Horz. These people, the Orovars, are white; and
were, perhaps a million years ago, the dominant
race of the Red Planet.

It was John Carter's ill fortune to be captured
by themi but he eventually escaped with Liana of
Gathol and Pan Dan Chee, an Orovar. (See "The
City of Mummies", March '41 Amaxing Stories.)

Carter had left his flier in a courtyard of the
city when he landed there and fully expected to
find it when he escaped, thus making it easy for

gXCEPT for the Grand Canyon of
the Colorado, I had never seen
anything like it. It was a great rift val-
ley that appeared to be about ten miles
wide and perhaps two miles deep, ex-
tending for miles in either direction.

There were outcroppings of rock at
the rim of the rift, and behind these
we hid. Scattered about us were more
human skeletons than we had seen be-
fore. Perhaps they were a warning;
but at least they could not harm us, and
so we turned our attention to the ap-
proaching caravan, which had now
changed its direction a little and was
coming straight toward us. Hoping
against hope that they would again
change their direction and pass us, we
lay there watching them.

When I had been first miraculously
transported to Mars I had been cap-
tured by a horde of green men, and I
had lived with them for a long time; so
that I learned to know their customs
well. Therefore, I was quite positive
that this caravan was making the quin-
quennial pilgrimage of the horde to its
hidden incubator.

Each adult Martian female brings
forth about thirteen eggs each year;
and those which reach the correct size,
weight and specific gravity are hidden
in the recesses of some subterranean

the three fugitives to reach Gathol. But when he
reached the spot where he had left his flier, he
found that it was gone and there was indisputable
evidence that it had been taken by Hin Abtol,
self-styled Jeddak of Jeddaks of the North.

Hin Abtol, the rejected suitor of Liana of
Gathol, had abducted her; and it was in escaping
from him that she had found her way to Horz
and a fortunate meeting with John Carter, whose
daughter, Tara of Helium, is her mother, and with
Pan Dan Chee who had immediately fallen in
love with her.

It is four thousand haads from Horz to Gathol,
a matter of some fifteen hundred earth miles,
which is a long walk on anybody's planet; but
there was no alternative for the three but to un-
dertake it.

The adventures that befell them on that long
hike, John Carter here tells you in his own
words.— Ed.

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

vault where the temperature is too low
for incubation.

Every year these eggs are carefully
examined by a counsel of twenty chief-
tains, and all but about one hundred of
the most perfect are destroyed out of
each yearly supply.

At the end of five years about five
hundred almost perfect eggs have been
chosen from the thousand brought forth.
These are then placed in the almost air-
tight incubators to be hatched by the
sun's rays after a period of another five
years.

All but about one per cent of the
eggs hatch, and these are left behind
when the horde departs from the incu-
bator. If these eggs hatch, the fate of
those abandoned little Martians is un-
known. They are not wanted, as their
off-spring might inherit and transmit
the tendency to prolonged incubation
and thus upset the system which has
been maintained for ages and which
permits the adult Martians to figure
the proper time for return to the incu-
bator almost to an hour.

The incubators are built in remote
fastnesses where there is little or no
likelihood of their being discovered by
other tribes. The result of such a catas-
trophe would mean no children in the
community for another five years.

The green Martians' caravan is a
gorgeous and barbaric thing to see. In
this one were some two hundred and
fifty enormous three-wheeled chariots
drawn by huge mastodonian animals
known as zitidars, any one of which
from their appearance might easily have
drawn the entire train when fully
loaded.

The chariots themselves were large,
commodious and gorgeously decorated.
In each was seated a female Martian
loaded with ornaments of metal, with
jewels and silks and furs; and upon the
back of each of the zitidars a young

Martian driver was perched on top of
gorgeous trappings.

At the head of the caravan rode some
two hundred warriors, five abreast ; and
a like number brought up the rear.
About twenty-five or thirty out-riders
flanked the chariots on either side.

The mounts of the warriors defy de-
scription in earthly words. They tow-
ered ten feet at the shoulder, had four
legs on either side, a broad flat tail,
larger at the tip than at the root, which
they held straight out behind while run-
ning; a gaping mouth which splits the
head from the snout to the long, mas-
sive neck.

Like their huge masters, they are en-
tirely devoid of hair, but are a dark
slate color and are exceedingly smooth
and glossy. Their bellies are white and
their legs shaded from the slate of the
shoulders and hips to a vivid yellow at
the feet. The feet themselves are heav-
ily padded and nailless. Like the ziti-
dars they wear neither bit nor bridle,
but are guided entirely by telepathic
means.

As we watched this truly magnificent
and impressive cortege, it changed di-
rection again; and I breathed a sigh of
relief as I saw that they were going to
pass us. Evidently, from the backs of
their lofty mounts, they had seen the
rift and were now moving parallel with
it.

My relief was to be short-lived, for
as the rear of the caravan was about
to pass us one of the flankers spied us.

CHAPTER II
Flight Into the Valley

JNSTANTLY the fellow wheeled his
thoat and, shouting to his compan-
ions, came galloping toward us. We
sprang to our feet with drawn swords,
expecting to die; but ready to sell our
lives dearly.

AMAZING STORIES

A moment after we had gained our
feet, Liana exclaimed, "Look! Here is
a trail down into the valley."

I looked around. Sure enough, now
that we were standing erect, I could see
the head of a narrow, precipitous trail
leading down over the edge of the cliff.
If we could but reach it, we would be
safe, for the great thoats and zitidars
of the green men could not possibly ne-
gotiate it. It was very possible that the
green men were not even aware of the
presence of the rift before they had
come suddenly upon it, and this is en-
tirely possible; because they build their
incubators in uninhabited and unex-
plored wildernesses sometimes as much
as a thousand miles from their own
stamping grounds.

As the three of us, Liana, Pan Dan
Chee, and I, ran for the trail, I glanced
over my shoulder and saw that the lead-
ing warrior was almost on top of us and
that we could not all reach the trail.
So I called to Pan Dan Chee to hurry
down it with Liana. They both stopped
and turned toward me.

"It is a command," I told them. Re-
luctantly they turned and continued on
toward the end of the trail, while I
wheeled and faced the warrior.

He had stopped his thoat and dis-
mounted, evidently intent upon captur-
ing me rather than killing me; but I
had no mind to be captured for torture
and eventual death. It was far better
to die now.

He drew his long-sword as he came
toward me and I did likewise. Had
there not been six of his fellows gallop-
ing up on their huge thoats I should not
have worried greatly, for with a sword
I am a match for any green Martian
that was ever hatched. Even their
great size gives them no advantage.
Perhaps it handicaps them, for their
movements are slow and ponderous by
comparison with my earthly agility;

and though they are twice my size, I
am fully as strong as they. The muscles
of earthly man have not contended with
the force of gravity since the dawn of
humanity for nothing. It has devel-
oped muscles; because every move we
make is contested by gravity.

My antagonist was so terribly cock-
sure of himself, when facing such a
seemingly puny creature as I, that he
left himself wide open as he charged
down upon me like a wild bull.

T SAW by the way he held his sword
that he intended to strike me on the
head with the flat of it, rendering me
unconscious, so that he could more
easily capture me; but when the sword
fell I was not there; I had stepped to
the right out of his way, and simulta-
neously I thrust for his heart. I would
have punctured it, too, had not one of
his four arms happened to swing against
the point of my blade before it reached
his body. As it was, I gave him a severe
wound; and, roaring with rage, he
turned and came at me again.

This time he was more careful; but
it made no difference; he was doomed,
for he was testing his skill against the
best swordsman of two worlds.

The other six warriors were almost
upon me now. This was no time for the
sport of fencing. I feinted once, and
ran him through the heart. Then, see-
ing that Liana was safe, I turned and
ran along the edge of the rift; and the
six green warriors did just what I had
expected them to do. They had prob-
ably detached themselves from the rear
guard for the sport of catching a red
man for torture or for their savage
games.

Bunched close together they came
after me, the nailless, padded feet of
their ponderous mounts making no
sound upon the ocher, moss-like vegeta-
tion of the dead sea bottom. Their

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

spears couched, they came for me, each
trying to make the kill or the capture.
I felt much as a fox must feel at a fox
hunt.

Suddenly I stopped, turned, and ran
toward them. They must have thought
that I had gone mad with fear, for they
certainly couldn't have known what I
had in mind and that I had run from
them merely to lure them away from the
head of the trail leading down into the
valley. They were almost upon me
when I leaped high into the air and
completely over them. My great
strength and agility and the lesser grav-
ity of Mars had once again come to my
aid in an emergency.

When I alighted, I dashed for the
head of the trail. And when the war-
riors could stop their mounts they
turned and raced after me, but they
were too late. I can out-run any thoat
that was ever foaled. The only trouble
with me is that I am too proud to run;
but, like the fellow that was too proud
to fight, I sometimes have to, as in this
case where the safety of others was at
stake.

I reached the head of the trail in
plenty of time and hurried down after
Liana and Pan Dan Chee, whom I
found waiting for me when I caught up
with them.

A S we descended, T looked up and
saw the green warriors at the edge
of the rift looking at us; and, guessing
what would happen, I dragged Liana
into the shelter of an over-hanging
ledge. Pan Dan Chee followed just as
radium bullets commenced to explode
close to us.

The rifles with which the green men
of Mars are armed are of a white metal,
stocked with wood; a very light and
intensely hard growth much prized on
Mars and entirely unknown to us den-
izens of Earth. The metal of the barrel

is an alloy composed principally of alu-
minum and steel, which they have
learned to temper to a hardness far
exceeding that of the steel with which
we are familiar. The weight of these
rifles is comparatively little; and with
the small caliber, explosive radium
projectiles which they use and the great
length of the barrel, they are deadly in
the extreme and at ranges which would
be unthinkable on Earth.

The projectiles which they use ex-
plode when they strike an object, for
they have an opaque outer coating
which is broken by the impact, expos-
ing a glass cylinder, almost solid, in the
forward end of which is a minute par-
ticle of radium powder.*

The moment the sunlight, even
though diffused, strikes this powder it
explodes with a violence which nothing
can withstand. In night battles one
notices the absence of these explosions,
while the following morning will be
filled at sunrise with the sharp detona-
tions of exploding missiles fired the pre-
ceding night. As a rule, however, non-
exploding projectiles are used after
dark.

I felt it safer to remain where we
were rather than to expose ourselves- by
attempting to descend, as I doubted
very much if the huge green warriors
would follow us down that steep decliv-
ity on foot, for the trail was too narrow
for their great bodies and they hate
going anywhere on foot.

After a few minutes I investigated
and found that they apparently had de-
parted. Then we started on down into
the valley, not wishing to risk another
encounter with that great horde of cruel

*John Carter has used the word radium in de-
scribing this powder because in the light of recent
discoveries on earth he believes it to be a mixture
of which radium is the base. In Captain Carter's
manuscript it is mentioned always by the name
used in the written language of Helium and is
spelled in hieroglyphics which it would be difficult
and useless to reproduce.— Ed.

AMAZING STORIES

and ruthless creatures.

CHAPTER III

The Hidden City

r T , HE trail was steep and oftentimes
dangerous for it zigzagged down the
face of an almost perpendicular cliff.
Occasionally on a ledge we would have
to step over the skeleton of a man, and
we passed three newly dead bodies in
various stages of decomposition.

"What do you make of these skele-
tons and bodies?" asked Pan Dan Chee.

"I am puzzled," I replied; "there
must be a great many more who died
on the trail than those whose remains
we have seen here. You will note that
these all lie on ledges where the bodies
could have lodged when they fell.
Many more must have pitched to the
foot of the cliff."

"But how do you suppose they met
their death?" asked Liana.

"There might have been an epidemic
of disease in the valley," suggested Pan
Dan Chee, "and these poor devils died
while trying to escape."

"I am sure I haven't the slightest idea
of what the explanation can be," I re-
plied. "You see the remains of harness
on most of them, but no weapons. I
am inclined to think that Pan Dan Chee
is right in assuming that they were try-
ing to escape, but whether from an epi-
demic of sickness or something else we
may never know."

From our dizzy footing on that pre-
carious trail we had an excellent view
of the valley below. It was level and
well watered and the monotony of the
scarlet grass which grows on Mars
where there is water, was broken by
forests, the whole making an amazing
sight for one familiar with this dying
planet.

There are crops and trees and other

vegetation along the canals; there are
lawns and gardens in the cities where
irrigation is available; but never have
I seen a sight like this except in the
Valley Dor at the South Pole, where lies
the Lost Sea of Korus. For here there
was not only a vast expanse of fertile
valley but there were rivers and at least
one lake which I could see in the dis-
tance; and then Liana called our atten-
tion to a city, gleaming white, with lofty
towers.

"What a beautiful city," she said.
"I wonder what sort of people live
there?"

"Probably somebody who would love
nothing better than to slit our throats,"
I said.

"We Orovars are not like that," said
Pan Dan Chee, "we hate to kill people.
Why do all the other races on Mars hate
each other so?"

"I don't think that it is hate that
makes them want to kill each other," I
said. "It is that it has become a custom.
Since the drying up of the seas ages ago,
survival has become more and more
difficult; and in all those ages they have
become so accustomed to battling for
existence that now it has become sec-
ond nature to kill all aliens."

"I'd still like to see the inside of that
city," said Liana of Gathol.

"Your curiosity will probably never
be satisfied," I said.

\XTE stood for some time on a ledge
looking down upon that beautiful
valley, probably one of the most beau-
tiful sights on all of Mars. We saw sev-
eral herds of the small thoats used by
the red Martians as riding animals and
for food. There is a little difference in
the saddle and butchering species, but
at this distance we could not tell which
these were. We saw game animals down
there, too, and we who had been so long
without good meat were tempted.

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

"Let's go down," said Liana; "we
haven't seen any human beings and we
don't need to go near the city; it is a
long way off. I should like so much to
see the beauties of that valley closer."

"And I would like to get some good
red meat," I said.

"And I, too," said Pan Dan Chee.

"My better judgment tells me it
would be a foolish thing to do," I said,
"but if I had followed my better judg-
ment always, my life would have been a
very dull one."

"Anyway," said Liana, "we don't
know that it is any more dangerous
down on the floor of the valley than it
was up on the edge of the rim. We cer-
tainly barely missed a lot of trouble up
there, and it may still be hanging
around."

I didn't think so; although I have
known green Martians to hunt a couple
of red men for days at a time. Any-
way, the outcome of our discussion was
that we continued on down to the floor
of the valley.

Around the foot of the cliff, where
the trail ended, there was a jumble of
human bones and a couple of badly
mangled bodies — poor devils who had
either died on the trail above or fallen
to their death here at the bottom. I
wondered how and why.

Fortunately for us, the city was at
such a distance that I was sure that no
one could have seen us from there; and,
knowing Martian customs, we had no
intention of approaching it; nor would
we have particularly cared to had it
been safe, for the floor of the valley
was so entrancingly beautiful in its nat-
ural state that the sights and sounds of
a city would have proved a discordant
note.

A short distance from us was a little
river; and, beyond it, a forest came
down to its edge. We crossed to the
river on the scarlet sward, close-cropped
by grazing herds and starred by many

flowers of unearthly beauty.

A short distance down the river a
herd of thoats was grazing. They were
the beef variety, which is exceptionally
good eating; and Pan Dan Chee sug-
gested that we cross the river so that
he could take advantage of the con-
cealment of the forest to approach close
enough to make a kill.

The river was simply alive with fish,
and as we waded across I speared sev-
eral with my long sword.

"At least we shall have fish for din-
ner," I said, "and if Pan Dan Chee is
lucky, we shall have a steak."

"And in the forest I see fruits and
nuts," said Liana. "What a banquet
we shall have!"

"Wish me luck," said Pan Dan Chee,
as he entered the forest to work his
way down toward the thoats.

Liana and I were watching, but we
did not see the young Orovaran again
until he leaped from the forest and
hurled something at the nearest thoat,
a young bull. The beast screamed, ran
a few feet, staggered and fell, while
the rest of the herd galloped off.

"How did he do that?" asked Liana.

"I don't know," I said, "he did it so
quickly that I couldn't see what it was
he threw. It was certainly not a spear;
because he hasn't one, and if it had been
his sword we could have seen it."

"It looked like a little stick," said
Liana.

We saw Pan Dan Chee cutting steaks
from his kill; and presently he was
back with us, carrying enough meat for
a dozen men.

"How did you kill that thoat?" de-
manded Liana.

"With my dagger," replied Pan Dan
Chee.

"It was marvelous," I said, "but
where did you learn it?"

"Dagger throwing is a form of sport
in Horz. We are all good at it, but I '
happen to have won the Jeddak's trophy

AMAZING STORIES

for the last three years; so I was pretty
sure of my ground when I offered to
get you a thoat, although I had never
before used it to kill game. Very, very
rarely is there a duel in Horz ; and when
there is, the contestants usually choose
daggers, unless one of them is far more
proficient than the other."

While Pan Dan Chee and I were
making fires and cooking the fish and
steaks, Liana gathered fruits and nuts ;
so that we had a delicious meal, and
when night came we lay down on the
soft sward and slept.

CHAPTER IV
We Enter the City

VX/'E slept late, for we had been very
tired the night before. I speared
some fresh fish, and we had fish and
steaks and fruit and nuts again for
breakfast. Then we started toward the
trail that leads out of the valley.

"It is going to be an awful climb,"
said Pan Dan Chee.

"Oh, I wish we didn't have to make
it," said Liana; "I hate to leave this
beautiful spot."

My attention was suddenly attracted
toward the lower end of the valley.

"Maybe you won't have to leave it,
Liana," I said. "Look I"

Both she and Pan Dan Chee turned
and looked in the direction I had indi-
cated, to see two hundred warriors
mounted on thoats. The men were
ebony black, and I wondered if they
could be the notorious Black Pirates
of Barsoom that I had first met and
fought many years ago at the South
Pole — the people who called themselves
the First Born.

They galloped up and surrounded us;
their spears couched, ready for any
emergency.

"Who are you?" demanded their

leader. "What are you doing in the
Valley of the First Born?"

"We came down the trail to avoid a
horde of green men," I replied. "We
were just leaving. We came in peace;
we do not want war, but we are still
three swords ready to give a good ac-
count of ourselves."

"You will have to come to Kamtol
with us," said the leader.

"The city?" I asked. He nodded.

I whipped my sword from its scab-
bard.

"Stop!", he said. "We are two hun-
dred; you are three. If you come to
the city there would be at least a chance
that you won't be killed; if you stay
here and fight you will be killed."

I shrugged. "It is immaterial to me,"
I said. "Liana of Gathol wishes to see
the city, and I would just as leave fight.
Pan Dan Chee, what do you and Liana
say?"

"I would like to see the city," said
Liana, "but I will fight if you fight.
Perhaps," she added, "they will not be
unkind to us."

"You will have to give up your arms,"
said the leader.

I didn't like that and I hesitated.

"It is that or death," said the leader.
"Come; I can't stand here all day."

Well, resistance was futile; and it
seemed foolish to sacrifice our lives if
there were the remotest hope that we
might be well received in Kamtol, and
so we were taken on the backs of three
thoats behind their riders and started
for the beautiful white city.

nrHE ride to the city was uneventful,
but it gave me an excellent oppor-
tunity to examine our captors more
closely. They were unquestionably of
the same race as Xodar, Dator of the
First Born of Barsoom, to give him his
full title, who had been first my enemy
and then my friend during my strange

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

adventures among the Holy Therns.

They are an exceptionally handsome
race, clean-limbed and powerful, with
intelligent faces and features of such
exquisite chiseling that Adonis himself
might have envied them. I am a Vir-
ginian ; and it may seem strange for me
to say so, but their black skins, resem-
bling polished ebony, add greatly to
their beauty. The harness and metal
of our captors was identical with that
worn by the Black Pirates whose ac-
quaintance I had made upon the Golden
Cliffs above the Valley Dor.

My admiration of these people did
not blind me to the fact that they are
a cruel and ruthless race and that our
life expectancy was reduced to a mini-
mum by our capture.

Kamtol did not belie its promise. It
was as beautiful on closer inspection as
it had been at a distance. Its pure white
outer wall is elaborately carved, as are
the facades on many of its buildings.
Graceful towers rise above its broad
avenues, which, when we entered the
city, were filled with people. Among
the blacks, we saw a number of red
men performing menial tasks. It was
evident that they were slaves, and their
presence suggested the fate which might
await us.

I cannot say that I looked forward
with any great amount of enthusiasm to
the possibility that John Carter, Prince
of Helium, Warlord of Mars, might be-
come a street cleaner or a garbage col-
lector. One thing that I noticed par-
ticularly in Kamtol was that the resi-
dences could not Ije raised on cylindrical
columns, as is the case in most modern
Martian cities, where assassination has
been developed to a fine art and where
assassins' guilds flourish openly, and
their members swagger through the
streets like gangsters in Chicago.

Heavily guarded, we were taken to
a large building and there we were sep-

arated. I was taken to an apartment
and seated in a chair with my back to-
ward a strange looking machine, the
face of which was covered with innu-
merable dials. A number of heavily in-
sulated cables ran from various parts
of the apparatus; metal bands at the
ends of these cables were clamped about
my wrists, my ankles, and my neck,
the latter clamp pressing against the
base of my skull; then something like
a straight-jacket was buckled tightly
around me, and I had a sensation as of
countless needles touching my spine for
almost its full length.

I thought that I was to be electro-
cuted, but it seemed to me that they
took a great deal of unnecessary pains
to destroy me. A simple sword thrust
would have done it much more quickly.

An officer, who was evidently in
charge of the proceedings, came and
stood in front of me.

"You are about to be examined," he
said, "you will answer all questions
truthfully;" then he signaled to an at-
tendant who threw a switch on the
apparatus.

CO I was not to be electrocuted, but
examined. For what, I could not
imagine. I felt a very gentle tingling
throughout my entire body, and then
they commenced to hurl questions at
me.

There were six men. Sometimes they
questioned me singly and sometimes all
at once. At such times, of course, I
could not answer very intelligently be-
cause I could not hear the questions
fully. Sometimes they spoke sooth-
ingly to me, and again they shouted at
me angrily; often they heaped insults
upon me.

They let me rest for a few moments,
and then a slave entered the apartment
with a tray of very tempting food which
he offered to me. As I was about to

AMAZING STORIES

take it, it was snatched away; and my
tormentors laughed at me.

They jabbed me with sharp instru-
ments until the blood flowed, and then
they rubbed the wounds with a burn-
ing caustic, after which they applied a
salve that instantly relieved the pain.
Again I rested and again food was of-
fered me. When I made no move to at-
tempt to take it, they insisted; and
much to my surprise, let me eat it.

By this time I had come to the con-
clusion that we had been captured by a
race of sadistic maniacs, and what hap-
pened next assured me that I was right.
My torturers all left the apartment. I
sat there for several minutes wondering
at the whole procedure and why they
couldn't have tortured me without at-
taching me to that amazing contraption.
I was facing a door in the opposite wall,
and suddenly the door flew open and a
huge banth leaped into the room with
a horrid roar.

This, I thought, is the end, as the
great carnivore came racing at me. As
suddenly as he had entered the room,
he came to a stop a few feet from me,
and so instantly that he was thrown to
the floor at my feet. It was then that
I saw that he was secured by a chain
just a little too short to permit him to
reach me. I had had all the sensations
of impending death — a most refined
form of torture. However, if that had
been their purpose they had failed, for
I do not fear death.

The banth was dragged out of the
apartment by his chain and the door
closed; then the examining board re-
entered smiling at me in the most kindly
way."

"That is all," said the officer in
charge; "the examination is over."

A FTER the paraphernalia had been
removed from me, I was turned
over to my guard and taken to the pits,

such as are to be found in every Mar-
tian city, ancient or modern. These
labyrinthine corridors and chambers
are used for storage purposes and for
the incarceration of prisoners, their only
other tenants being the replusive ulsio.

I was chained to the wall in a large
cell in which there was another prisoner,
a red Martian; and it was not long until
Liana of Gathol and Pan Dan Chee
were brought in and chained near me.

"I see you survived the examina-
tion," I said.

"What in the world do they expect to
learn from such an examination as
that?" demanded Liana. "It was stupid
and silly."

"Perhaps they wanted to find out if
they could scare us to death," suggested
Pan Dan Chee.

"I wonder how long they will keep us
in these pits," said Liana.

"I have been here a year," said the
red man. "Occasionally I have been
taken out and put to work with other
slaves belonging to the jaddaks, but
until someone buys me I shall remain
here."

"Buys youl What do you mean?"
asked Pan Dan Chee.

"All prisoners belong to the jeddak,"
replied the red man, "but his nobles or
officers may buy them if they wish an-
other slave. I think he is holding me at
too high a price, for a number of nobles
have looked at me and said that they
would like to have me."

He was silent for a moment and then
he said, "You will pardon my curiosity,
but two of you do not look like Bar-
soomians at all, and I am wondering
from what part of the world you come.
Only the woman is typical of Barsoom;
both you men have white skin and one
of you black hair and the other yellow."

"You have heard of the Orovafs?"
I asked.

"Certainly," he replied, "but they

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

have been extinct for ages."

"Nevertheless, Pan Dan Chee here is
an Orovar. There is a small colony of
them that has survived in a deserted
Orovar city."

"And you?" he asked; "you are no
Orovar, with that black hair."

"No," I said, "I am from another
world — Jasoom."

"Oh," he exclaimed," can it be that
you are John Carter?"

"Yes; and you?"

"My name is Jad-han. I am from
Amhor."

"Amhor?" I said. "I know a girl
from Amhor. Her name was Janai."

"What do you know of Janai?" he
demanded.

"You knew her?" I asked.

"She was my sister; she has been
dead for years. While I was out of the
country on a long trip, Jal Had, Prince
of Amhor, employed Gantum Gur, the
assassin, to kill my father; because he
objected to Jal Had as a suitor for
Janai's hand. When I returned to Am-
hor, Janai had fled and later I learned
of her death. In order to escape assas-
sination myself, I was forced to leave
the city. After wandering about for
some time I was captured by the First
Born. But tell me, what did you know
of Jama?"

"I know that she is not dead," I re-
plied. "She is mated with one of my
most trusted officers and is safe in
Helium."

JAD-HAN was overcome with hap-
piness when he learned that his
sister still lived. "Now," he said, "if I
could escape from here and return to
Amhor to avenge my father, I would die
happy."

"Your father has been avenged," I
told him. "Jal Had is dead."

"I am sorry that it was not given to
me to kill him," said Jad-han.

"You have been here a year," I said,
"and you must know something of the
customs of the people. Can you tell us
what fate may lie in store for us."

"There are several possibilities," he
replied. "You may be worked as slaves,
in which event you will be treated
badly, but may be permitted to live for
years; or you may be saved solely for
the games which are held in a great
stadium. There you will fight with men
or beasts for the edification of the First
Born. On the other hand, you may be
summarily executed at any moment.
All depends upon the mental vargaries
of Doxus, Jeddak of The First Born,
whom I think is a little mad."

"If the silly examination they gave
us is any criterion," said Liana, "they
are all mad."

"Don't be too sure of that," Jad-han
advised. "If you realized the purpose
of that examination, you would under-
stand that it was never devised by any
unsound mind. Did you see the dead
men as you entered the valley?"

"Yes, but what have they to do with
the examination?"

"They took that same examination;
that is why they he dead out there."

"I do not understand," I said.
"Please explain."

"The machines to which you were
connected recorded hundreds of your
reflexes; and automatically recorded
your own individual nerve index, which
is unlike that of any other creature in
the world.

"The master machine, which you did
not see and never will, generates short
wave vibrations which can be keyed
exactly to your individual nerve index.
When that is done you have such a
severe paralytic stroke that you die
almost instantly."

"But why all that just to destroy a
few slaves?" demanded Pan Dan Chee.

"It is not for that alone," explained

AMAZING STORIES

Jad-han. "Perhaps that was one of the
initial purposes to prevent prisoners
from escaping and spreading word of
this beautiful valley on a dying planet.
You can imagine that almost any coun-
try would wish to possess it. But it has
another purpose; it keeps Doxus
supreme. Every adult in the valley has
had his nerve index recorded, and is at
the mercy of his jeddak. You don't
have to leave the valley to be exter-
minated. An enemy of the jeddak might
be sitting in his own home some day,
when the thing would find him out and
destroy him. Doxus is the only adult
in Kamtol whose index has not been
recorded; and he and one other man,
Myrlo, are the only ones who know
exactly where the master machine is
located, or how to operate it. It is said
to be very delicate and that it can be
irreparably damaged in an instant — and
can never be replaced."

"Why couldn't it be replaced?" asked
Liana.

"The inventor of it is dead," replied
Jad-han. "It is said that he hated
Doxus ; because of the purpose to which
the jeddak had put his invention and
that Doxus had him assassinated
through fear of him. Myrlo, who suc-
ceeded him, has not the genius to design
another such machine."

CHAPTER V
Sold as Slaves

'"THAT night, after Liana had fallen
asleep, Jad-han, Pan Dan Chee, and
I were conversing in whispers ; so as not
to disturb her.

"It is too bad," said Jad-han, who
had been looking at the sleeping girl;
"it is too bad that she is so beautiful."

"What do you mean?" asked Pan
Dan Chee.

"This afternoon you asked me what

your fate might be ; and I told you what
the possibilities might be, but those
were the possibilities for you two men.
For the girl — " He looked sorrowfully
at Liana and shook his head; he did
not need to say more.

The next day a number of the First
Born came down into our cell and ex-
amined us, as one might examine cattle
that one purposed buying. Among
them was one of the jeddak's officers,
upon whom devolved the duty of sell-
ing prisoners into slavery for the highest
amounts he could obtain.

One of the nobles immediately took
a fancy to Liana and made an offer for
her. They haggled over the price for
some time, but in the end the noble got
her.

Pan Dan Chee and I were grief
stricken as they led Liana of Gathol
away, for we knew that we should
never see her again. Although her
father is Jed of Gathol, in her veins
flows the blood of Helium; and the
women of Helium know how to act when
an unkind Providence reserves for them
the fate for which we knew Liana of
Gathol was intended.

"Oh! to be chained to a wall and
without a sword when a thing like this
happens," exclaimed Pan Dan Chee.

"I know how you feel," I said; "but
we are not dead yet, Pan Dan Chee;
and our chance may come yet."

"If it does, we will make them pay,"
he said.

Two nobles were bidding for me, and
at last I knocked down to a dator named
Xaxak. My fetters were removed, and
the jeddak's agent warned me to be a
good and docile slave.

Xaxak had a couple of warriors with
him, and they walked on either side of
me as we left the pits. I was the object
of considerable curiosity, as we made
our way toward Xaxak's palace, which
stood near that of the jeddak. My

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

white skin and gray eyes always arouse
comment in cities where I am not
known. Of course, I am bronzed by ex-
posure to the sun, but even so my skin is
not the copper red of the red men of
Barsoom.

Before I was taken to the slaves'
quarters of the palace, Xaxak ques-
tioned me. "What is your name?" he
asked.

"Dotar Sojat," I replied. It is the
name given me by the green Martians
who captured me when I first came to
Mars, being the names of the first two
green Martians I had killed in duels;
and is in the nature of an honorable
title. A man with one name, an o-mad,
is not considered very highly. I was
always glad that they stopped with
two names, for had I had to assume the
name of every green Martian warrior
I had killed in a duel it would have
taken an hour to pronounce them all.

"TVD you say dator?" asked Xaxak.

"Don't tell me that you are a
prince! "

"I said Dotar," I replied. I hadn't
given my real name; because I had
reason to believe that it was well known
to the First Born, who had good reason
to hate me for what I had done to them
in the Valley Dor.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"I have no country," I said; "I am
a panthan."

As these soldiers of fortune have no
fixed abode, wandering about from city
to city offering their services and their
swords to whomever will employ them,
they are the only men who can go with
impunity into almost any Martian city.

"Oh, a panthan," he said. "I suppose
you think you are pretty good with a
sword."

"I have met worse," I replied.
"If I thought you were any good, I
would enter you in the lesser games,"

he said; "but you cost me a lot of
money, and I'd hate to take the chance
of your being killed."

"I don't think you need worry about
that," I told him.

"You are pretty sure of yourself," he
said. "Well, let's see what you can do.
Take him out into the garden," he di-
rected the two warriors. Xaxak fol-
lowed us out to an open patch of sward.

"Give him your sword," he said to
one of the warriors; and, to the other,
"Engage him, Ptang; but not to the
death;" then he turned to me. "It is
not to the death, slave, you understand.
I merely wish to see how good you are.
Either one of you may draw blood, but
don't kill."

Ptang, like all the other Black Pirates
of Barsoom whom I have met, was an
excellent swordsman — cool, quick, and
deadly. He came toward me with a
faint, supercilious smile on his lips.

"It is scarcely fair, my prince," he
said to Xaxak, "to pit him against one
of the best swordsmen in Kamtol."

"That is the only way in which I
can tell whether he is any good at all,
or not," replied Xaxak. "If he extends
you, he will certainly be good enough
to enter in the Lesser Games. He might
even win his price back for me."

"We shall see," said Ptang, crossing
swords with me.

Before he realized what was happen-
ing, I had pricked him in the shoulder.
He looked very much surprised, and the
smile left his lips.

"An accident," he said; "it will not
occur again;" and then I pinked him in
the other shoulder. Now, he made a
fatal mistake ; he became angry. While
anger may stiffen a man's offense, it
weakens his defense. I have seen it
happen a thousand times, and when I
am anxious to dispatch an antagonist
quickly I always try to make him angry.

"Come, come! Ptang," said Xaxak;

AMAZING STORIES

"can't you make a better showing than
that against a slave?"

■y^/ITH. that, Ptang came for me
with blood in his eye, and I didn't
see anything there that looked like a de-
sire to pink — Ptang was out to kill me.

"Ptang!" snapped Xaxak; "don't kill
him."

At that, I laughed; and drew blood
from Ptang's breast.

"Have you no real swordsmen in
Kamlot?" I asked, tauntingly.

Xaxak and his other warrior were
very quiet. I caught glimpses of their
faces occasionally, and they looked a
bit glum. Ptang was furious, and now
he came for me like a mad bull with a
cut that would have lopped off my head
had it connected. However, it didn't
connect; and I ran him through the
muscles of his left arm.

"Hadn't we better stop," I asked
Xaxak, "before your man bleeds to
death?"

Xaxak did not reply; but I was get-
ting bored with the whole affair and
wanted to end it; so I drew Ptang into
a lunge, and sent his sword flying across
the garden.

"Is that enough now?" I asked.

Xaxak nodded. "Yes," he said, "that
is enough."

Ptang was one of the most surprised
and crestfallen men I have ever seen.
He just stood there staring at me, mak-
ing no move to retrieve his blade. I
felt very sorry for him.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of,
Ptang," I told him. "You are a splen-
did swordsman, but what I did to you
I can do to any man in Kamtol."

"I believe it," he said. "You may be a
slave, but I am proud to have crossed
swords wth you. The world has never
seen a better swordsman."

"I am convinced of that," said
Xaxak, "and I can see where you are

going to make a lot of money for me,
Dotar Sojat."

"V"AXAK treated me much as a
wealthy horse owner on Earth
would treat a prospective Derby win-
ner. I was quartered in the barracks
of his personal guard, where I was
treated as an equal. He detailed Ptang
to see that I had the proper amount of
exercise and sword play; and also, I
presume, to see that I did not try to
escape. And now my only concern was
the fate of Liana of Gathol and Pan
Dan Chee, of whose whereabouts and
state I was totally ignorant.

Somewhat of a friendship developed
between Ptang and myself. He ad-
mired my swordsmanship, and used to
brag about it to the other warriors. At
first they had been inclined to criticize
and ridicule him because he had been
bested by a slave; so I suggested that
he offer to let his critics see if they
could do any better with me.

"I can't do that," he said, "without
Xaxak's permission; for if anything
happened to you, I should be held re-
sponsible."

"Nothing will happen to me," I told
him; "no one should know that better
than you."

He smiled a bit ruefully. "You are
right," he said, "but still I must ask
Xaxak;" and this he did the next time
that he saw the dator.

In order to win Ptang's greater
friendship, I had been teaching him
some of the finer points of swordsman-
ship which I had learned in two worlds
and in a thousand duels and battles;
but by no means did I teach him all of
my tricks, nor could I impart to him the
strength and agility which my earthly
muscles give me on Mars.

Xaxak was watching us at sword play
when Ptang asked him if I might take
on some of his critics. Xaxak shook

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

2:!

his head. "I am afraid that Dotar
Sojat might be injured," he said.

"I will guarantee that I shall not be,"
I told him.

"Well," he said; "then I am afraid
that you might kill some of my war-
riors."

"I promise not to. I will simply show
them that they cannot last as long as
Ptang did."

"It might be good sport," said Xaxak.
"Who are those who criticized you,
Rang?"

Ptang gave him the names of five
warriors who had been particularly ven-
omous in their ridicule and criticism,
and Xaxak immediately sent for them.

"I understand," said Xaxak, when
they had assembled, "that you have
condemned Ptang because he was
bested in a duel with this slave. Do
any of you think that you could do
better than Ptang did?"

Ther assured him, almost in chorus,
that they could do very much better.

"We shall see," he said, "but you
must understand that no one is to be
killed and that you are to stop when I
give the word. It is an order."

They assured him that they would
not kill me, and then the first of them
swaggered out to meet me. One after
another, in rapid succession, I pinked
each in the right shoulder and dis-
armed him.

T MUST say they took it very de-
cently; all except one of them — a
fellow named Ban-tor, who had been
Ptang's most violent critic.

"He tricked me," he grumbled. "Let
me at him again, my dator; and I will
kill him." He was so angry that his
voice trembled.

"No," said Xaxak; "he has drawn
your blood and he has disarmed you,
demonstrating that he is the better
swordsman. If it were due to a trick,

it was a trick of swordsmanship which
you might do well to master before you
attempt to kill Dotar Sojat."

The fellow was still scowling and
grumbling as he walked away with the
other four; and I realized that while
all of these First Born were my nominal
enemies, this fellow, Ban-tor, was an
active one. However, I gave the mat-
ter little thought as I was too valuable
to Xaxak for anybody to risk his dis-
pleasure by harming me; nor could I
see that there was any way in which
the fellow could injure me.

"Ban-tor has always disliked me,"
said Ptang, after they had all left us.
"He dislikes me because I have al-
ways bested him in swordsmanship and
feats of strength; and, in addition to
this, he is a natural born trouble maker.
If it were not for the fact that he is
related to Xaxak's wife, the dator would
not have him around."

Since I have already compared my-
self to a prospective Derby winner, I
might as well carry out the analogy by
describing their Lesser Games as minor
race meets. They are held about once
a week in a stadium inside the city, and
here the rich nobles pit their warriors
or their slaves against those of other
nobles in feats of strength, in boxing,
in wrestling, and in duelings. Large
sums of money are wagered, and the
excitement runs high.

The duels are not always to the death,
the nobles deciding beforehand pre-
cisely upon what they will place their
bets. Usually it is for first blood or
disarming; but there is always at least
one duel to the death, which might be
compared to the feature race of a race
meet, or the main event of a boxing
tournament.

Kamtol has a population of about two
hundred thousand, of which possibly
five thousand are slaves. As I was al-
lowed considerable freedom, I got

AMAZING STORIES

around the city quite a bit; though
Ptang always accompanied me, and I
was so impressed with the scarcity of
children that I asked Ptang what ac-
counted for it.

The Valley of the First Born will
only comfortably support about two
hundred thousand population," he re-
plied; "so only sufficient children are
permitted to replace the death losses.
As you may have guessed, by looking
at our people, the old and otherwise
unfit are destroyed; so that we have
about sixty-five thousand fighting men
and about twice as many healthy
women and children.

"There are two factions here, one of
which maintains that the number of
women should be greatly decreased;
so that the number of fighting men may
be increased, while the other faction
insists that, as we are not menaced by
any powerful enemies, sixty-five thou-
sand fighting men are sufficient.

"Strange as it may seem, most of the
women belong to the first faction ; not-
withstanding the fact that this faction
which believes in decreasing the num-
ber of females would do so by per-
mitting a far greater number of eggs
to incubate, killing all the females which
hatched and as many of the adult wo-
men as there were males in the hatch-
ing. This is probably due to the fact
that each woman thinks that she is
too desirable to be destroyed and that
that fate will fall to some other woman.
Doxus believes in maintaining the
status quo; but some future jeddak may
believe differently; and even Doxus
may change his mind, which, con-
fidentially, is most vacillating."

1V/TY fame as a swordsman soon
^ spread among the sixty-five thou-
sand fighting men of Kamtol, and
opinion was most unevenly divided as
to my ability. Perhaps a dozen men of

Kamtol had seen my sword play; and
they were willing to back me against
anyone; but all the remainder of the
sixty-five thousand felt that they could
best me in individual combat; for this
is a race of fighting men, all extremely
proud of their skill and their valor.

I was exercising in the garden with
Ptang one day, when Xaxad came with
another dator, whom he called Nastor.
When Ptang saw them coming, he
whistled.

"I never saw Nastor here before," he
said in a low tone of voice. "Xaxak
has no use for him, and he hates Xaxak.
Wait!" he exclaimed; "I have an idea
why he is here. If they ask for sword
play, let me disarm you. I will tell
you why, later."

"Very well," I said, "and I hope it
will do you some good."

"It is not for me," he said; "it is
for Dator Xaxak."

As the two approached us, I heard
Nastor say, "So this is your great
swordsman! I should like to wager
that I have men who could best him
any day."

"You have excellent men," said
Xaxak; "still, I think my man would
give a good account of himself. How
much of a wager do you want to lay?"

"You have seen my men fight," said
Nastor, "but I have never seen this
fellow at work. I would like to see him
in action; then I shall know whether to
ask or give odds."

"Very well," said Xaxak, "that is
fair enough;" then he turned to us.
"You will give the Dator Nastor an
exhibition of your swordsmanship,
Dotar Sojat; but not to the death— you
understand?"

Ptang and I drew our swords and
faced one another. "Don't forget what
I asked of you," he said, and then we
were at it.

I not only remembered what he had

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

asked, but I now realized why he had
asked it; and so I put up an exhibition
of quite ordinary swordsmanship, just
good enough to hold my own until I let
Rang disarm me.

"He is an excellent swordsman," said
Nastor, knowing that he was lying, but
not knowing that we knew it; "but I
will bet even money that my man can
kill him."

"You mean a duel to the death?"
demanded Xaxak; "then I shall demand
odds; as I did not desire my man to
fight to the death the first time he
fought."

"I will give you two to one," said
Nastor; "are those odds satisfactory?"

"Perfectly," said Xaxak. "How
much do you wish to wager?"

"A thousand tanpi * to your five
hundred," replied Nastor.

"I want to make more than enough
to feed my wife's sorak," replied Xaxak.

^^OW, a sorak is a little six-legged,
cat-like animal, kept as a pet by
many Martian women ; so what Xaxak
had said was equivalent to telling Nas-
tor that we didn't care to fight for
chicken feed. I could see that Xaxak
was trying to anger Nastor; so that he
would bet recklessly, and I knew then
that he must have guessed that Ptang
and I were putting on a show when I
let Ptang disarm me so easily.

Nastor was scowling angrily. "I did
not wish to rob you," he said; "but if
you wish to throw your money away,
you may name the amount of the
wager."

"Just to make it interesting," said
Xaxak, "I'll bet you fifty thousand
tanpi against your hundred thousand."

This staggered Nastor for a moment;
but he must have got to thinking how
easily Ptang had disarmed me, for

*A tanpi is equivalent to about $1 in United
States money. — Ed.

eventually he rose to the bait.

"Donel" he said; "and I am sorry for
both you and your man," with which
polite hypocricy he turned on his heel
and left without another word.

Xaxak looked after him with a half
smile on his lips; and when he had
gone, turned to us. "I hope you were
just playing a little game," he said, "for
if you were not you may have lost me
fifty thousand tanpi."

"You need not worry, my prince,"
said Ptang.

"I shall not worry unless Dotar Sojat
worries," replied the dator.

"There is always a gamble in such
an enterprise as this," I replied; "but
I think that you got very much the best
of the bargain, for the odds should have
been the other way."

"At least you have more faith than
I have," said Xaxak the dator.

CHAPTER VI
Duel to the Death

pTANG told me that he had never
known more interest to be dis-
played in a duel to the death than fol-
lowed the announcement of the wager
between Xaxak and Nastor. "No com-
mon warrior is to represent Nastor," he
said. "He has persuaded a dator to
fight for him, a man who is considered
the best swordsman in Kamtol. His
name is Nolat. I have never before
known of a prince fighting a slave; but
they say that Nolat owes Nastor a great
deal of money and that Nastor will can-
cel the debt if Nolat wins, which Nolat
is sure that he will — he is so sure that
he has pledged his palace to raise money
to bet upon himself."

"Not such a stupid thing for him to
do, after all," I said; "for if he loses
he won't need a palace."

Ptang laughed. "I hope he doesn't

AMAZING STORIES

need it," he said; "but don't be over-
confident, for he is rated the best
swordsman among the First Born; and
there are supposed to be no better
swordsmen in all Barsoom."

Before the day arrived that I was to
fight Nastor, Xaxak and Ptang grew
more and more nervous; as did all of
Xaxak's warriors, who seemed to feel
a personal interest in me — that is, with
the exception of Bantor, whose enmity
I had aroused by disarming him.

Ban-tor had placed a number of wag-
ers against me; and he kept bragging
about this, insisting that I was no match
for Nolat and that I should be killed in
short order.

I slept in a small room by myself on
old, discarded furs, as befitted a slave.
My room connected with that occupied
by Ptang; and had only one door, which
opened into Ptang's room. It was on
the second floor of the palace and over-
looked the lower end of the garden.

The night before the encounter I was
awakened by a noise in my room, and
as I opened my eyes I saw a man leap
out of the window with a sword in his
hand; but, as neither of Mars' two
moons was in the sky, is was not light
enough for me to be sure that I could
recognize him; yet there was something
very familiar about him.

The next morning I told Ptang about
my nocturnal visitor. Neither of us,
however, could imagine why anyone
would want to enter my room in stealth,
as I had nothing to steal.

"It might have been an assassin who
wanted to stop the fight," suggested
Ptang.

"I doubt that," I said; "for he had
plenty of opportunity to kill me, as I
didn't awaken until he was leaping
through the window."

"You missed nothing?" asked Ptang.

"I had nothing to miss," I replied,
"except my harness and weapons, and

I am wearing them now."

Ptang finally suggested that the fel-
low may have thought that a female
slave slept in the room; and when he
found out his error, took his departure;
and with that we dropped the matter
from our minds.

^^/"E went to the stadium about the
fourth zode, and we went in style
— in fact it was a regular pageant.
There were Xaxak and his wife, with
her female slave, and Xaxak's officers
and warriors. We were all mounted on
gaily caparisoned thoats; pennants
waved above us, and mounted trumpet-
ers preceded us. Nastor was there with
the same sort of retinue. We all pa-
raded around the arena to the accom-
paniment of "Kaors! " and growls — the
kaors were applause and the growls
were boos. I received a great many
more growls than kaors, for after all
I was a slave pitted against a prince, a
man of their own blood.

There were some wrestling and box-
ing matches and a number of duels for
first blood only, but what the people
were waiting for was the duel to the
death. People are very much alike
everywhere. On Earth, they go to box-
ing matches hoping for blood and a
knockout; they go to the wrestling
matches hoping to see some one thrown
out of the ring and crippled; and when
they go to automobile races they hope
to see somebody killed. They will not
admit these things, but without the ele-
ment of danger and the risk of death
these sports wouldn't draw a hatful of
people.

At last the moment came for me to
enter the arena, and I did so before
a most distinguished audience. Doxus,
Jeddak of the First Born, was there
with his Jeddara. The loges and boxes
were crowded with the nobility of Kam-
tol. It was a gorgeous spectacle; the

AMAZING STORIES

harnesses of the men and women were
resplendent with precious metals and
jewels, and from every vantage point
flew pennants and banners.

Nolat was escorted to the jeddak's
box and presented; then to the box
of Xaxak, where he bowed; and last
of all to the box of Nastor, for whom
he was fighting.

I, being a slave, was not presented
to the jeddak; but I was taken before
Nastor; so that he could identify me
as the individual against whom he had
placed his wagers. It was, of course, a
mere formality; but in accordance with
the rules of the Games.

I had caught only a brief glimpse of
Nastor's entourage as we had paraded
around the arena; as they had been
behind us; but now I got a good look
at them, as I stood in the arena before
Nastor, and I saw Liana of Gathol sit-
ting there beside the dator. Now, in-
deed, would I kill Nastor's man!

Liana of Gathol gasped and started
to speak to me; but I shook my head,
for I was afraid she would call me by
name, which might, here among the
First Born, have been the equivalent of
a death sentence. It was always a sur-
prise to me that none of these men
recognized me; for my white skin and
gray eyes make me a marked man, and
if any of them had been in the Valley
Dor when I was there they must have
remembered me. I was to learn later
why none of these Black Pirates of
Barsoom knew me.

"Why did you do that, slave?" de-
manded Nastor.

"Do what?" I asked him in a puz-
zled tone.

"Shake your head," he replied.

"Perhaps it is because I am nerv-
ous," I said.

"And well you may be, slave, for
you are about to die," he snapped
nastily.

J WAS taken then to a point in the
arena opposite the jeddak's box.
Ptang was with me, as a sort of a sec-
ond, I suppose. They let us stand there
alone for several minutes, presumably
to shake my nerves; then Nolat ap-
proached, accompanied by another
noble dator. There was a fifth man;
possibly he might have been called a
referee; although he didn't have much
to do beside giving the signal for the
duel to commence.

Nolat was a large, powerful man;
and built like a fighter. He was a very
handsome man, but with a haughty,
supercilious expression. Ptang had told
me that we were supposed to salute each
other with our swords before we en-
gaged; and as soon as I got in position,
I saluted ; but Nolat merely sneered and
said, "Come, slave! You are about to
die."

"You made a mistake, Nolat," I
said, as we engaged.

"What do you mean?" he demanded,
lunging at me.

"You should have saluted your bet-
ter," I said, parrying his lunge. "Now
it will go harder with you — unless you
would like to stop and salute me as you
should have at first."

"Insolent calot!" he growled, and
thrust viciously at me.

For reply, I cut a gash in his left
cheek. "I told you you should have
saluted," I mocked.

Nolat became furious then, and come
at me with the evident intention of
ending the encounter immediately. I
sliced him along the other cheek, then;
and a moment later I carved a bloody
cross upon his left breast, a difficult
maneuver requiring exceptional agility
and skill, since his right side was al-
ways presented to me, or always should
have been had he been quick enough to
follow my foot work.

That audience was as silent as

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

a tomb, except for the kaors from
Xaxak's contingent. Nolat was bleed-
ing profusely, and he had slowed down
considerably.

Suddenly somebody shouted,
"Death!" Then other voices took it
up. They wanted the kill; and as it
was quite evident that Nolat couldn't
kill me, I assumed that they wished me
to kill him. Instead, I disarmed him,
sending his blade flying half way across
the arena. The referee ran after it;
at last I had given him something to do.

I turned to Nolat's second. "I offer
the man his life," I said in a tone of
voice loud enough to have been heard
in any part of the stadium.

Immediately there were shouts of
"Kaorl" and "Death!" The "Deaths"
were in the majority.

"He offers you your life, Nolat," said
the second.

"But the wagers must be paid pre-
cisely as though I had killed you," I
said.

"It is to the death," said Nolat. "I
shall fight."

Well, he was a brave man; and be-
cause of that I hated to kill him.

UTS sword was returned to him by
now, and we fell to it again. This
time Nolat did not smile nor sneer, and
he had no nasty remarks to make to
me. He was in deadly earnest, fighting
for his life like a cornered rat. He was
an excellent swordsman; but I do not
think that he was the best swordsman
among the First Born; for I had seen
many of them fight before, and I could
have named a dozen who could have
killed him offhand.

I could have killed him myself any
time that I had wished to, but somehow
I couldn't bring myself to do it. It
seemed a shame to kill such a good
swordsman and such a brave man; so
I pricked him a few times and dis-

armed him again. I did the same thing
three more times; and then, while the
referee was running after Nolat's sword
again, I stepped to the jeddak's loge.

"What are you doing here, slave?"
demanded an officer of the jeddaks
guard.

"I come to ask for the life of Nolat,"
I replied. "He is a good swordsman
and a brave man — and I am not a
murderer; and it would be murder to
kill him now."

"It is a strange request," said Doxus;
"the duel was to the death; it must go
on."

"I am a stranger here," I said, "but
where I come from if a contestant can
show fraud or chicanery he is awarded
the decision without having to finish
the contest."

"Do you mean to imply that there
has been fraud or chicanery on the part
of either the Dator Nastor or the Dator
Nolat?" demanded Doxus.

"I mean to say that a man entered
my room last night while I slept, took
my sword, and left a shorter one in
the scabbard. This sword is several
inches shorter than Nolat's; I noticed
it when we first engaged. It is not my
sword, as Xaxak and Ptang can testify
if they will examine it."

Doxus summoned Xaxak and Ptang
and asked them if they could identify
the sword. Xaxak said that he could
only identify it as coming from his
armory ; that he did not know the sword
that had been issued to me, but that
Ptang did; then Doxus turned to
Ptang.

"Is this the sword that was issued
to the slave, Dotar Sojat?" he de-
manded.

"No; it is not," replied Ptang.

"Do you recognize it?"

"I do."

"To whom did it belong?"

"It is the sword of a warrior named

AMAZING STORIES

Ban-tor," replied Ptang.

'p'HERE was nothing for Doxus to
do but award the contest to me ; and
he also ordered that all bets be paid,
just as though I had killed Nolat. That
didn't set very well with Nastor, nor
did the fact that Doxus made him pay
over to Xaxak one hundred thousand
tanpi in the jeddak's presence; then he
sent for Ban-tor.

Doxus was furious; for the First
Born hold their honor as fighting men
very high, and the thing that had been
done was a blot upon the escutcheons
of them all.

"Is this the man who entered your
room last night?" he asked me, and I
noticed that he didn't add "slave" as he
usually had.

"It was dark; and I only saw his
back; there was something familiar
about the fellow, but I couldn't identify
him positively."

"Did you lay any wagers on this
contest?" he asked Ban-tor.

"A few little ones, Jeddak," replied
the man.

"On whom?"

"On Nolat."

Doxus turned to one of his officers.
"Summon all those with whom Ban-tor
wagered on this contest."

A slave was sent around the arena,
shouting out the summons; and soon
there were fifty warriors gathered be-
fore Doxus' loge. Ban-tor appeared
most unhappy; as, from each of the
fifty, Doxus gleaned the information
that Ban-tor had wagered large sums
with each, in some instances giving ex-
tremely big odds.

"You thought that you were betting
on a sure thing, didn't you?" demanded
Doxus.

"I thought that Nolat would win,"
replied Ban-tor; "there is no better
swordsman in Kamtol."

"And you were sure that he would
win against an antagonist with a shorter
sword. You are a disgrace; you have
dishonored the First Born. For punish-
ment you will fight now with Dotar
Sojat;" then he turned to me. "You
may kill him; and before you engage
him, I, myself, will see that your sword
is as long as his; although it would be
only fair were he to be compelled to
fight with the shorter sword he gave
to you."

"I shall not kill him," I replied, "but
I shall put a mark upon him that he
will carry through life to remind all
men that he is a knave."

As we started to take our places be-
fore the loge of the jeddak, I heard
bets being offered with odds as high
as a hundred to one that I would win,
and later I learned that even a thou-
sand to one was offered without any
takers; then, as we faced one another,
I heard Nastor shout,

"I will lay no wager, but I'll give
Ban-tor fifty thousand tanpi if he kills
the slave." It appeared that the noble
dator was wroth at me.

Ban-tor was no mean antagonist; for
he was not only a good swordsman, but
he was fighting for his life and fifty
thousand tanpi. He didn't try any
rushing tactics this time; but fought
carefully, mostly on the defensive, wait-
ing for me to make one little false move
that would give him an opening; but
I do not make false moves. It was he
who made the false move; he thrust,
following a feint, thinking to find me
off balance.

I am never off balance. My blade
moved twice with the swiftness of light,
leaving an X cut deep in the center of
Bantor's forehead; then I disarmed
him.

Without even glancing at him again,
I walked to Doxus' loge.
"I am satisfied," I said. "To bear

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

the scar of that cross through life is
punishment enough. To me, it would
be worse than death."

Doxus nodded assent; and then
caused the trumpets to be blown to an-
announce that the Games were over,
after which he again turned to me.

"What country are you from?" he
asked.

"I have no country; I am a panthan,"
I replied; "my sword is for sale to the
highest bidder."

"I shall buy you, and thereby ac-
quire your sword also," said the jeddak.
"What did you pay for this slave,
Xaxak?"

"One hundred tanpi," replied my
owner.

"You got him too cheap," said
Doxus; "I shall give you fifty tanpi
for him." There is nothing like being
a jeddak !

"It is my pleasure to present him to
you," said Xaxak, magnanimously; I
had already netted him a hundred thou-
sand tanpi, and he must have realized
that it would be impossible ever to get
another wager placed against me.

T WELCOMED this change of mas-
ters; because it would take me into
the palace of the jeddak, and I had been
harboring a hair-brained scheme to pave
the way for our eventual escape, that
could only be successful if I were to
have entry to the palace — that is, if my
deductions were correct.

So John Carter, Prince of Helium,
Warlord of Barsoom, came into the
palace of Doxus, Jeddak of the First
Born, as a slave; but a slave with a
reputation. The warriors of the jed-
dak's guard treated me with respect; I
was given a decent room; and one of
Doxus' trusted under-ofncers was made
responsible for me, just as Ptang had
been in the palace of Xaxak.

I was at something of a loss to know

why Doxus had purchased me. He
must have known that he couldn't ar-
range a money duel for me, for who
would be fool enough to place a man
or a wager against one who had made
several of the best swordsmen of Kam-
tol look like novices?

The next day I found out. Doxus
sent for me. He was alone in a small
room when I was escorted in, and he
immediately dismissed the warrior who
had accompanied me.

"When you entered the valley," he
commenced, "you saw many skeletons,
did you not?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Those men died trying to escape,"
he said. "It would be impossible for
you to succeed any better than they.
I am telling you this so that you won't
make the attempt. You might think
that by killing me you might escape in
the confusion which would ensue; but
you could not; you can never escape
from the Valley of the First Born. How-
ever, you may live on here in comfort,
if you wish. All that you have to do
is teach me the tricks of swordsmanship
with which you bested the finest swords-
man of Kamtol. I, the jeddak, should
be the greatest swordsman of all the
First Born. I wish you to make me
that, but I wish the instruction given
in secret and no word of it ever to
pass your lips on pain of instant death —
and a most unpleasant death, I can
assure you. What do you say?"

"I can promise the utmost discre-
tion," I said, "but I cannot promise to
make you the greatest swordsman
among the First Born; the achievement
of that will depend somewhat upon
your own native ability. I will instruct
you, however."

"You do not talk much like a poor
panthan," he said. "You speak to me
much as would a man who had been
accustomed to speaking with jeddaks —

AMAZING STORIES

and as an equal."

"You may have much to learn about
being a swordsman," I said, "but I
have even more to learn about being a
slave."

He grunted at that, and then arose
and told me to follow him. We passed
through a little door behind the desk
at which he had been sitting, and down
a ramp which led to the pits below the
palace. At the foot of the ramp we
entered a large, well lighted room in
which were filing cases, a couch, several
benches, and a table strewn with writ-
ing materials and drawing instruments.

"This is a secret apartment," said
Doxus. "Only one person other than
myself has access to it. We shall not
be disturbed here. This other man of
whom I spoke is my most trusted serv-
ant. He may come in occaionally, but
he will not divulge our little secret. Let
us get to work. I can scarcely wait un-
til the day that I shall cross swords
with some of those egotistical nobles
who think that they are really great
swordsmen. Won't they be surprised!"

CHAPTER VII
A Way to Escaps?

^OW, I had no intention of revealing
all of my tricks of swordsmanship
to Doxus, although I might have as far
as any danger to myself was concerned,
for he could never equal me; because
he could never match my strength or
agility.

I had been practicing him in disarm-
ing an opponent, when a door opposite
that from which we had entered the
room opened; and a man came in. Dur-
ing the brief time that the door re-
mained open, I saw beyond it a brilliant-
ly lighted room; and caught a glimpse
of what appeared to be an amazingly
complicated machine. Its face was cov-

ered with dials, buttons, and other
gadgets — all reminiscent of the ma-
chine to which I had been attached
during the wierd examination I had re-
ceived upon entry to the city.

At sight of me, the newcomer looked
surprised. Here was I, a total stranger
and evidently a slave, facing the Jed-
dak of the First Born with a naked
blade in my hand. Instantly, the fel-
low whipped out a radium pistol; but
Doxus forestalled a tragedy.

"It is all right, Myrlo," he said. "I
am just taking some instruction In the
finer points of swordsmanship from this
slave. His name is Dotar Sojat; you
will see him down here with me daily.
What are you doing down here now?
Anything wrong?"

"A slave escaped last night," said
Myrlo.

"You got him, of course?"

'Just now. He was about half way
up the escarpment, I think."

"Good ! " said Doxus. "Resume, Do-
tar Sojat."

I was so full of what I had just
heard and seen and what I thought
that it all connoted that I had hard
work keeping my mind on my work;
so that I inadvertently let Doxus prick
me. He was as pleased as Punch.

"Wonderful ! " he exclaimed. "In one
lesson I have been so improved that I
have been able to touch you! Not
even Nolat could do that. We will stop
now. I give you the freedom of the
city. Do not go beyond the gates." He
went to the table and wrote for a min-
ute; then he handed me what he had
written. "Take this," he said; "it will
permit you to go where you will in all
public places and return to the palace."

He had written:

Dotar Sojat, the slave, is granted

the freedom oj the palace and the

city. Doxus,

Jeddak.

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

As I returned to my quarters, I de-
termined to let Doxus prick me every
day. I found Man-lat, the under-of-
ficer who had been detailed to look
after me, alone in his room, which ad-
joined mine.

"Your duties are going to be less-
ened," I told him.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

I showed him the pass.

"Doxus must have taken a liking to
you," he said. "I never before knew
of a slave being given that much free-
dom, but don't try to escape."

"I know better than to try that. I
saw the skeletons from the top to the
bottom of the escarpment."

"We call them Myrlo's babies," said
Man-lot; "he's so proud of them."

"Who is Myrlo?" I asked.

"Somebody you'll probably never
see," replied Man-lot. "He sticks to
his pots and his kettles, his lathes and
drills and his drawing instruments."

"Does he live in the palace?" I asked.

"Nobody knows where he lives, un-
less it be the jeddak. They say he has
a secret apartment in the palace, but I
don't know about that. What I do
know is that he's the most powerful
man in Kamtol, next to Doxus; and that
he has the power of life and death over
every man and woman in the Valley
of the First Born. Why, he could
strike either one of us dead right while
we are sitting here talking; and we'd
never see what killed us."

I was even more convinced now than
I had been before that I had found
what I had hoped to in that secret room
beneath the palace — but how to utilize
the knowledge!

J IMMEDIATELY took advantage
of my freedom to go out into the
city, only a part of which I had seen
during the short time that I had been
out with Ptang. The guards at the

palace gate were as surprised when they
read my pass as Man-lat had been. Of
course, pass or no pass, I was still an
enemy and a slave — a person to be
viewed with suspicion and contempt;
but in my case the contempt was tem-
pered by the knowledge that I had
bested their best at swordsmanship. I
doubt that you can realize in what high
esteem a great swordsman is held every-
where on Mars. In his own country he
is worshipped, as might be a Juan Bel-
monte in Spain or a Jack Dempsey in
America.

I had not gone far from the palace,
when I chanced to look up; and, to my
surprise, saw a number of fliers drop-
ping down toward the city. The First
Born I had seen in the Valley Dor had
all been flying men; but I had not be-
fore seen any fliers over the valley, and
I had wondered.

Martian aeroplanes, being lighter
than air, or in effect so; because of the
utilization of that marvellous discov-
ery, the ray of repulsion, which tends
to push them away from the planet,
can land vertically in a space but little
larger in area than themselves; and I
saw that the planes I was watching
were coming down into the city at no
great distance from the palace.

Fliers! I think that my heart beat
a little faster at the sight of them.
Fliers! A means of escape from the
Valley of the First Born. It might take
a great deal of scheming; and would
certainly entail enormous risks; but if
all went well with the other part of my
plan, I would find a way— and a flier.

I made my way toward the point at
which I had seen the fliers disappear
behind the roofs of the buildings near
me, and at last my search was rewarded.
I came to an enormous building some
three stories high, on the roof of which
I could just see a part of a flier. Prac-
tically all hangars on Barsoom are on

AMAZING STORIES

the roofs of buildings, usually to con-
serve space in crowded, walled cities;
so I was not surprised to find a hanger
in Kamtol thus located.

I approached the entrance to the
building, determined to inspect it and
some of the ships if I could get in. As
I stepped through the entrance, a war-
rior barred my way with drawn sword.

"Where do you think you're going,
slave?" he demanded.

I showed him my pass.

He looked equally as surprised as the
others had who had read it.

"This says the freedom of the palace
and the city," he said; "it doesn't say
the freedom of the hangars."

"They're in the city, aren't they?" I
demanded.

He shook his head. "They may be in
the city, but I won't admit you. I'll
call the officer."

He did so, and presently the officer
appeared. "So!" he exclaimed, when
he saw me ; "you're the slave who could
have killed Nolat, but spared his life.
What do you want here?"

I handed him my pass. He read it
carefully a couple of times. "It doesn't
seem possible," he said, "but then your
swordsmanship didn't seem possible
either. It is hard for me to believe it
yet. Why, Nolat was considered the
best swordsman in Kamtol; and you
made him look like an old woman with
one leg. Why do you want to come
in here?"

"I want to learn to fly," I said,
naively.

He slapped his thighs and laughed
at that. "Either you are foolish, or you
think we First Born are, if you have
an idea that we would teach a slave
to fly."

"Well, I'd like to come in and look
at the fliers anyway," I said. "That
wouldn't do any harm. I've always
been interested in them."

He thought a moment; then he said,
"Nolat is my best friend; you might
have killed him, but you refused. For
that I am going to let you come in."

"Thank you," I said.

'"pHE first floor of the building was
largely given over to shops where
fliers were being built or repaired. The
second and third floors were packed
with fliers, mostly the small, swift ones
for which the Black Pirates of Barsoom
are noted. On the roof were four large
battleships; and, parked under them,
were a number of small fliers for which
there was evidently no room on the
floors below.

The building must have covered sev-
eral acres; so there was an enormous
number of planes hangared there. I
could see them now, as I had seen them
years before, swarming like angry mos-
quitoes over the Golden Cliffs of the
Holy Therns; but what were they do-
ing here? I had supposed that the
First Born lived only in the Valley Dor,
although the majority of Barsoomians
still believe that they come from Thuria,
the nearer moon. That theory I had
seen refuted the time that Xodar, a
Black Pirate, had nearly succumbed
from lack of oxygen when I had flown
too high while escaping from them, that
time that Thuvia and I had escaped the
therns during their battle with the Black
Pirates. If a man can't live without
oxygen, he can't fly back and forth
between Thuria and Barsoom in an
open flier.

The officer had sent a warrior along
with me, as a precaution against sabo-
tage, I suppose; and I asked this fellow
why I had seen no ships in the air
since I had come, except the few I had
seen this day.

"We fly mostly at night," he replied,
"so that our enemies cannot see where
we take off from, nor where we land.

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

Those that you saw coming in a few
minutes ago were visitors from Dor.
That may mean that we are going to
war, and I hope so. We haven't raided
any cities for a long time. If it's to be
a big raid, those from Dor and from
Kamtol band together." '

Some Black Pirates from the Valley
Dor! Now, indeed, I might be recog-
nized.

J^S I walked away from the hangar
building, I turned and looked back,
studying every detail of the architec-
ture; then I walked around the entire
building, which covered a whole square,
with avenues on all four sides. Like
nearly all Martian buildings, this one
was highly ornamented with deep carv-
ings. It stood in a rather poor section
of the city, although not far from the
palace; and was surrounded by small
and modest homes. They were prob-
ably the homes of the artisans employed
around the hangar.

A little farther from the hangar a
section of small shops began; and as I
passed along, looking at the wares dis-
played, I saw something which brought
me to a sudden stop, for it suggested a
new accessory to my rapidly formulat-
ing plans for escape from the Valley of
the First Born — from which none ever
escaped. It is sometimes well not to be
too greatly constrained by precedent.

I entered the shop and asked the pro-
prietor the price of the article I wished.
It was only three teepi, the equivalent
of about thirty cents in United States
money; but with the information came
the realization that I had none of the
money of the First Born.

The medium of exchange upon Mars
is not dissimilar to our own, except that
the coins are oval; and there are only
three; the pi, pronounced pie, worth
about one cent; the teepi, ten cents;
and the tanpi, one dollar. These coins

are oval; one of bronze, one of silver,
and one of gold. Paper money is is-
sued by individuals, much as we write
a check, and is redeemed by the in-
dividual twice yearly. If a man issues
more than he can redeem, the govern-
ment pays his creditors in full; and the
debtor works out the amount upon the
farms, or in the mines, which are gov-
ernment owned.

I had with me money of Helium to
the value of some fifty tanpi, and I
asked the proprietor if he would accept
a larger amount than the value of the
article in foreign coin. As the value
of the metal is equal to the value of the
coin, he gladly accepted one dollar in
gold for what was worth thirty cents in
silver; and I placed my purchase in my
pocket pouch and departed.

As I approached the palace, I saw a
white skinned man ahead of me carry-
ing a heavy burden on his back. Now,
as far as I knew, there was only one
other white skinned man in Kamtol;
and that was Pan Dan Chee; so I
hastened to overtake him.

Sure enough, it was the Orovar from
Horz; and when I came up behind him
and called him by name, he almost
dropped his burden, so surprised was he.

"John Carter!" he exclaimed.

"Hush!" I cautioned; "my name is
Dotar Sojat. If the First Born knew
that John Carter was in Kamtol I hate
to think what would happen to him.
Tell me about yourself. What has
happened to you since I last saw you?"

"J WAS purchased by Dator Nastor,
who has the reputation of being the
hardest master in Kamtol. He is also
the meanest; he bought me only be-
cause he could buy me cheap, and he
made them throw in Jad-han for good
measure. He works us day and night,
and feeds us very little — and poor food
at that. Since he lost a hundred thou-

AMAZING STORIES

sand tanpi to Xaxak, it has been almost
like working for a maniac.

"By my first ancestor! " he exclaimed
suddenly; "so it was you who defeated
Nolat and caused Nastor to lose all that
money! "I didn't realize it until just
now. They said the slave who won the
contest was named Dotar Sojat, and
that meant nothing to me until now —
and I was a little slow in getting it, at
that."

"Have you seen Liana of Gathol?"
I asked him. "She was in Nastor's Ipge
at the Games; so I presume she was
purchased by him."

"Yes, but I have not seen her," re-
plied Pan Dan Chee; "however, I have
heard gossip in the slaves' quarters;
and I am much worried by what is
being whispered about the palace."

'What have you heard? I felt that
she was in danger when I saw her in
Nastor's loge. She is too beautiful to
be safe."

"She was safe enough at first," said
Pan Dan Chee, "as she was originally
purchased by Nastor's principal wife.
Everything was comparatively well for
her until Nastor got a good look at her
at the Games; then he tried to buy her
from his wife. But she, Van-tija, re-
fused to sell. Nastor was furious, and
told Van-tija that he would take Liana
anyway; so Van-tija has locked her in
an apartment at the top of the tower
of her own part of the palace, and has
placed her personal guards at the only
entrance. There is the tower, there," he
said, pointing; "perhaps Liana of Ga-
thol is looking down at us now."

As I looked up at the tower, I saw
that it rose above a palace which stood
directly across the large central plaza
from that of the jaddak; and I saw
something else — I saw that the windows
of Liana's apartments were not barred.

"Do you think that Liana is in any
immediate danger?" I asked.

"Yes," he replied, "I do. It is
rumored in the palace that Nastor is
going to lead warriors to Van-tija's sec-
tion of the palace and attempt to take
the tower by storm."

"Then we have no time to lose, Pan
Dan Chee. We must act tonight."

"But what can we two slaves do?"
he demanded. "Even if we succeeded
in getting Liana out of the tower, we
could never escape from the Valley of
the First Born. Do not forget the
skeletons, John Carter."

"Trust me," I said, "and don't call
me John Carter. Can you get out of
the palace of Nastor after dark?"

"I think so; they are very lax; be-
cause assassination and theft are prac-
tically unknown here, and the secret
machine of the jeddak makes escape
from the valley impossible. I am quite
sure that I can get out. In fact, I have
been sent out on errands every night
since I was purchased."

"Good!" I said. "Now listen care-
fully: Come out of the palace and
loiter in the shadows near Nastor's
palace at about twenty-five xats after
the eighth zode *. Bring Jad-han with
you, if he wishes to escape. If my plan
succeeds, a flier will land here in the
plaza near you; run for it and climb
aboard. It will be piloted by a Black
Pirate, but don't let that deter you.
If you and Jad-han can arm yourselves,
do so; there may be fighting. If the
flier does not come, you will know that
I have failed; and you can go back to
your quarters and be no worse off. If I
do not come, it will be because I am
dead, or about to die."

"And Liana?" he asked. "What of
her?"

My plans all center around the rescue
of Liana of Gathol," I assured him. "If
I fail in that, I fail in all; for I will
not leave without her."

•Midnight, Earth time.— Ed.

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

"I wish you could tell me how you
expect to accomplish the impossible,"
he said. "I should feel very much
surer of the outcome, I know, if you
would tell me at least something of
your plans."

"Certainly," I said. "In the first
place — "

"'Y^T'HAT are you two slaves doing
loitering here?" demanded a
gruff voice behind us. I turned to see
a burly warrior at my shoulder. For
answer, I showed him my pass from the
jeddak.

Even after he read it, he looked as
though he didn't believe it; but pres-
ently he handed it back to me and said,
"That's all right for you, but how about
this other one? Has he got a pass from
the jeddak, too?"

"The fault is mine," I said. "I knew
him before we were captured, and I
stopped him to ask how he was faring.
I am sure if the jeddak knew, he would
say that it was all right for me to talk
with a friend. The jeddak has been
very kind to me." I was trying to
impress the fellow with the fact that
his jeddak was very kindly disposed
toward me. I think that I succeeded.

"Very well," he said, "but get on
your way now — the Great Plaza is no
place for slaves to visit with one an-
other."

Pan Dan Chee picked up his burden
and departed, and I was about to leave
when the warrior detained me.

"I saw you defeat Nolat and Ban-tor
at the Games," he said. "We were talk-
ing about it a little while ago with
some of our friends from the Valley
Dor. They said that there was once
a warrior came there who was just such
a marvellous swordsman. His name
was John Carter, and he had a white
skin and gray eyes! Could your name,
by any chance, be John Carter?"

"My name is Dotar Sojat," I re-
plied.

"Our friends from the Valley Dor
would like to get hold of John Carter,"
he said; and then, with a rather nasty
little smile, he turned on his heel and
left me.

CHAPTER VIII

A Challenge from Dor

psTOW indeed was the occasion for
haste increased a hundred fold. If
one man in Kamtol suspected that I
might be John Carter, Prince of Helium,
I should be lost by the morrow at the
latest— perhaps before the morrow.
Even as I entered the palace I feared
arrest, but I reached my room without
incident.

Presently Man-lat came in; and at
sight of him I expected the worst, for
he had never visited me before. My
sword was ready to leap from its scab-
bard, for I had determined to die fight-
ing rather than let them arrest and dis-
arm me. Even now, if Man-lat made
a false move, I could kill him; and
there might still be a chance that my
plan could move on to successful fru-
ition.

But Man-lat was in a friendly, al-
most jovial mood.

"It is too bad that you are a slave,"
he said, "for there are going to be great
doings in the palace tonight. Doxus
is entertaining the visitors from Dor.
There will be much to eat and much to
drink, and there will be entertainment.
Doxus will probably have you give an
exhibition of sword play with one of
our best swordsman — not to the death,
you understand, but just for first blood.

"Then there will be dancing by slave
girls; the nobles will enter their most
beautiful. Doxus has commanded Nas-
tor to bring a new purchase of his

AMAZING STORIES

whose beauty has been the talk of
Kamtol since the last games. Yes, it
is too bad that you are not a First
Born ; so that you might enjoy the eve-
ning to the full."

"I am sure I shall enjoy the evening,"
I said.

"Didn't you say that I was going to
be there?"

"Oh, yes; but only as an entertainer.
You will not eat nor drink with us, and
you will not see the slave girls. It is
really too bad that you are not a First
Born; you would have been a credit
to us."

"I feel that I am quite the equal of
any of the First Born," I said, for I
was pretty well fed up with their ar-
rogance and conceit.

Man-lat looked at me in pained sur-
prise. "You are presumptions, slave,"
he said. "Do you not know that the
First Born of Barsoom, sometimes
known to you lesser creatures as The
Black Pirates of Barsoom, are of the
oldest race on the planet. We trace
our lineage, unbroken, direct to the
Tree of Life which flourished in the
Valley Dor twenty-three million years
ago.

"For countless ages the fruit of this
tree underwent the gradual changes of
evolution, passing by degrees from true
plant life to a combination of plant and
animal. In the first stages of this phase,
the fruit of the tree possessed only the
power of independent muscular action,
while the stem remained attached to
the parent plant; later, a brain de-
veloped in the fruit; so that, hanging
there by their long stems, they thought
and moved as individuals.

"Then, with the development of per-
ceptions, came a comparison of them;
judgments were reached and compared,
and thus reason and the power to reason
were born upon Barsoom.

"Ages passed. Many forms of life

came and went upon the Tree of Life,
but still all were attached to the parent
plant by stems of varying lengths. In
time the fruit upon the tree consisted
of tiny plant men, such as we now see
reproduced in such huge dimensions in
the Valley Dor; but still hanging to the
limbs and branches of the Tree by the
stems which grew from their heads.

"The buds from which the plant men
blossomed resembled large nuts about
a sofad * in diameter, divided by double
partition walls into four sections. In
one section grew the plant man; in an-
other a sixteen-Iegged worm; in the
third the progenitor of the white ape;
and in the fourth, the primeval black
man of Barsoom.

"When the bud burst, the plant man
remained dangling at the end of his
stem; but the three other sections fell
to the ground, where the efforts of their
imprisoned occupants to escape sent
them hopping about in all directions.

"Thus, as time went on, all Barsoom
was covered by these imprisoned crea-
tures. For countless ages they lived
long lives within their hard shells, hop-
ping and skipping about the broad plan-
et; falling into rivers, lakes, and seas
to be still farther spread about the
surface of the new world.

"Countless billions died before the
first black man broke through his
prison walls into the light of day.
Prompted by curiosity, he broke open
other shells; and the peopling of Bar-
soom commenced.

"The pure strain of the blood of this
first black man has remained untainted
by admixture with that of other crea-
tures; but from the sixteen legged
worm, the first white ape, and renegade
black men has sprung every other form
of life upon Barsoom."

I hoped he was through, for I had

•11.17 Earth inches— Ed.

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

heard all this many times before; but,
of course, I didn't dare tell him so.
I wished he would go away — not that
I could do anything until after dark,
but I just wanted to be alone and re-
plan every minutest detail of the night's
work that lay before me.

AT last he went; and at long last
night came, but I must still remain
inactive until about two hours before
the time that I had told Pan Dan Chee
to be prepared to climb aboard a flier
piloted by a Black Pirate. I was bet-
ting that he was still puzzling over that.

The evening wore on. I heard sounds
of revelry coming from the first floor
of the palace through the garden upon
which my window opened — the jeddak's
banquet was in full swing. The zero
hour was approaching — and then ma-
lign Fate struck. A warrior came, sum-
moning me to the banquet hall!

I should have killed him and gone
on about my business, but suddenly a
spirit of bravado possessed me. I would
face them all, let them see once more
the greatest swordsman of two worlds,
and let them realize, when I had es-
caped them, that I was greater in all
ways than the greatest of the First
Born. I knew it was foolish; but now
I was following the warrior toward the
banquet hall; the die was cast, and it
was too late to turn back.

No one paid any attention to me as
I entered the great room — I was only a
slave. Four tables, forming a hollow
square, were filled with men and wom-
en, gorgeously trapped. They were
talking and laughing; and wine was
flowing, and a small army of slaves was
bearing more food and more wine. Some
of the guests were already a little bit
high, and it was evident that Doxus
was holding his own with the best of
them. He had his arm about his wife,
on one side; but he was kissing another

man's wife on the other.

The warrior who had fetched me went
and whispered in the jeddak's ear, and
Doxus banged a huge gong for silence.
When they had quieted down, he spoke
to them: "For long the First Born of
the Valley Dor have boasted of their
swordsmanship; and, in contests, I ad-
mit that they have proved that they
possess some slight superiority over us;
but I have in my palace a slave, a com-
mon slave, who can best the best
swordsman from Dor. He is here now
to give an exhibition of his marvellous
ability in a contest with one of my
nobles; not to the death, but for first
blood only — unless there be one from
Dor who believes that he can best this
slave of mine."

A noble arose. "It is a challenge," he
said. "Dator Zithad is the best swords-
man here from Dor tonight; but if he
will not meet a slave, I will for the
honor of Dor. We have heard of this
slave since we arrived in Kamtol, how
he bested your best swordsmen; and I
for one shall be glad to draw his blood."

Then Zithad arose, haughtly and ar-
rogant. "I have never sullied my sword
with the blood of a slave," he said,
"but I shall be glad to expunge the
shame of Kamtol. Where is the
knave?"

Zithad! He had been Dator of the
Guards of Issus at the time of the re-
volt of the slaves and the overthrow
of Issus. He had good reason to re-
member me and to hate me.

When we faced each other in the
center of that hollow square in the ban-
quet hall of Doxus, Jeddak of the First
Born of Kamtol, he looked puzzled for
a moment, and then stepped back. He
opened his mouth to speak.

"So, you are afraid to meet a slave!"
I taunted him. "Come! they want to
see you spill my blood; let's not dis-
appoint them." I touched him lightly

AMAZING STORIES

with my point.

"Galot!" he growled, and came for
me.

|_JE was a better swordsman than
Nolat, but I made a monkey of
him. I backed him around the square,
keeping him always on the defensive;
but I drew no blood — yet. He was
furious — and he was afraid. The audi-
ence sat in breathless silence.

Suddenly he screamed: "Fools!
Don't you know who this slave is? He
is—" Then I ran him through the
heart.

Instantly pandemonium reigned. A
hundred swords sprang from their scab-
bards, but I waited to see no more —
I'd seen plenty! With drawn sword,
I ran straight for the center of one of
the tables; a woman screamed. In a
single bound I cleared the table and
the diners, and bolted through the door
behind them into the garden.

Of course, they were after me in-
stantly; but I dodged into the shrub-
bery, and made my way to a point be-
neath my window at the lower end of
the garden. It was scarcely a fifteen
foot jump to the sill, and a second later
I had passed through my room and
down a ramp to the floor below.

It was dark, but I knew every inch
of the way to my goal. I had pre-
pared for just some such eventuality.
I reached the room in which Doxus had
first interviewed me, and passed
through the doorway behind the desk
and down the ramp to the secret cham-
ber below.

I knew that no one would guess where
I had gone; and as Myrlo was doubt-
less at the banquet, I should be able to
accomplish with ease that which I had
come here to do.

As I opened the door into the larger
room, Myrlo arose from the couch and
faced me.

"What are you doing here, slave?" he
demanded.

J_JERE was a pretty pass! Every-
thing seemed to be going wrong;
first, the summons to the banquet hall;
then Zithad. and now Myrlo. I hated
to do it, but there was no other way.

"Draw!" I said. I am no murderer;
so I couldn't kill him unless he had a
sword in his hand, but Myrlo was not
so ethical — he reached for the radium
pistol at his hip. Fatal error! I
crossed the intervening space in a single
bound; and ran Myrlo, the inventor
of Kamtol, through the heart.

Without even waiting to wipe the
blood from my blade, I rah into the
smaller room. There was the master
mechanism that held two hundred thou-
sand souls in thrall, the hideous inven-
tion that had strewn the rim of the
great rift with mouldering skeletons.

I looked about and found a heavy
piece of metal; then I went for that
insensate monster with all the strength
and enthusiasm that I possess. In a
few minutes it was an indescribable
jumble of bent and broken parts — a
total wreck.

Quickly I ran back into the next
room, stripped Myrlo's harness and
weapons from his corpse and removed
my own; then from my pocket pouch
I took the article that I had purchased
in the little shop. It was a jar of the
ebony black cream with which the
women of the First Born are wont to
conceal the blemishes upon their glossy
skins.

In ten minutes I was as black as the
blackest Black Pirate that ever broke
a shell. I donned Myrlo's harness and
weapons; and, except for my gray eyes,
I was a noble of the First Born. I was
glad now that Myr-lo had not been at
the banquet, for his harness would help
to pass me through the palace and out

BLACK PIRATES OF BARSOOM

of it, an ordeal that I had not been
looking forward to with much relish;
for I had been wearing the harness of
the commonest of common warriors,
and I very much doubted that they
passed in and out of the palace late at
night without being questioned — and
I had no answers.

I got through the palace without en-
countering anyone, and when I ap-
proached the gate I commenced to
stagger. I wanted them to think that
a slightly inebriated guest was leaving
early. I held my breath as I ap-
proached the warriors on guard; but
they only saluted me respectfully, and
I passed out into the avenues of Kamtol.

My plan had been to climb the facade
of the hangar building, which I could
have done because of the deep carving
of its ornamentation; but that would
probably have meant a fight with the
guard on the roof as I clambered over
the cornice. Now, I determined to try
another, if no less hazardous, plan.

I walked straight to the entrance.
There was but a single warrior on guard
there. I paid no attention to him, but
strode in. He hesitated; then he sa-
luted, and I passed on and up the ramp.
He had been impressed by the gorgeous
trappings of Myrlo, the noble.

My greatest obstacle to overcome
now was the guard on the roof, where
I had no doubt but that I should find
several warriors. It might be difficult
to convince them that even a noble
would go flying alone at this time of
night, but when I reached the roof there
was not a single warrior in sight.

It took me but a moment to find the
flier I had selected for the adventure
when I had been there before, and but
another moment to climb to its controls
and start the smooth, silent motor.

'"THE night was dark; neither moon
was in the sky, and for that I was

thankful. I rose in a steep spiral until
I was high above the city; then I
headed for the tower of Nastor's palace
where Liana of Gathol was imprisoned.

The black hull of the flier rendered
me invisible, I was sure, from the ave-
nues below on a dark night such as
this; and I came to the tower with
every assurance that my whole plan had
worked out with amazing success, even
in spite of the ontoward incidents that
had seemed about to wreck it in its
initial stages.

As I drew slowly closer to the win-
dows of Liana's apartment, I heard a
woman's muffled scream and a man's
voice raised in anger. A moment later
the prow of my ship touched the wall
just below the window; and, seizing the
bow line, I leaped across the sill into
the chamber, Myrlo's sword in my
hand.

Across the room, a man was forcing
Liana of Gathol back upon a couch.
She was striking at him, and he was
cursing her.

"Enough!" I cried, and the man
dropped Liana and turned toward me.
It was Nastor, the dator.

"Who are you?" he demanded.
"What are you doing here?"

"I am John Carter, Prince of Hel-
ium," I replied; "and I am here to kill
you."

He had already drawn, and our
swords crossed even as I spoke.

"Perhaps you will recall me better
as Dotar Sojat, the slave who cost you
one hundred thousand tanpi," I said;
"the prince who is going to cost you
your life."

He commenced to shout for the
guard, and I heard the sound of run-
ning footsteps which seemed to be com-
ing up a ramp outside the door. I
saw that I must finish Nastor quickly;
but he proved a better swordsman than
I had expected, although the encounter

AMAZING STORIES

quickly developed into a foot race about
the chamber.

The guard was coming closer when
Liana darted to the door and pushed a
heavy bolt into place ; and not a.moment
too soon, for almost immediately I
heard pounding on the door and the
shouts of the warriors outside; and
then I tripped upon a fur that had
fallen from the couch during the strug-
gle between Liana and Nastor, and I
went down upon my back. Instantly
Nastor leaped for me to run me through
the heart. My sword was pointed up
toward him, but he had all the advan-
tage.

I was about to die.

Only Liana's quick wit saved me.
She leaped for Nastor from the rear
and seized him about the ankles. He
pitched forward on top of me, and my
sword went through his heart, two feet
of the blade protruding from his back.

It took all my strength to wrest it
free again.

"Come, Liana!" I said.

"Where to?" she asked. "The cor-
ridor is full of warriors."

"The window," I said. "Come!"

AS I turned toward the window, I
saw the end of my line, that I had
dropped during the fight, disappear over
the edge of the sill. My ship had
drifted away, and we were helplessly
trapped.

I ran to the window. Twenty-five
feet away, and a few feet below the
level of the sill, floated escape and free-
dom, floated life for Liana of Gathol,
for Pan Dan Chee, for Jad-han, and
for me.

There was but a single hope. I
stepped to the sill, measured the
distance again with my eyes — and
jumped. That I am narrating this ad-
venture must assure you that I landed
on the deck of that flier.

A moment later the flier was beside
the sill again, and Liana was safely
aboard.

"Pan Dan Chee!" she said. "What
has become of him. It seems cruel to
abandon him to his fate."

Pan Dan Chee would have been the
happiest man in the world could he
have known that her first thought was
for him, but I knew that the chances
were that she would snub or insult him
the first opportunity she had — women
are peculiar that way.

I dropped swiftly toward the plaza.

"Where are you going?" demanded
Liana. "Aren't you afraid we'll be
captured down there?"

"I am going for Pan Dan Chee," I
said, and a moment later I landed close
to Nastor's palace, and two men dashed
from the shadows toward the ship. They
were Pan Dan Chee and Jad-han.

As soon as they were aboard, I rose
swiftly; and headed for Gathol. I
could feel Pan Dan Chee looking at
me. Finally he could contain himself
no longer.

"Who are you?" he demanded; "and
where is John Carter?"

"I am now Myrlo, the inventor," I
said; "a short time ago I was Dotar
Sojat the slave; but always I am John
Carter.

"We are all together again," he said,
"and alive; but for how long? Have
you forgotten the skeletons on the rim
of the rift?"

"You need not worry," I assured him.
"The mechanism that put them there
has been destroyed."

He turned to Liana.

"Liana of Gathol," he said, "we have
been through much together ; and there
is not telling what the future holds for
us. Once again I lay my heart at your
feet."

"You may pick it up," said Liana of
Gathol; "I am tired and wish to sleep."

AMAZING STORIES

BSERVATORY

(Continued from page 7)

YOUR editors want especially to call your at-
tention to our companion magazine, Fantastic
Adventures, which is now published each month,
for the June issue, on sale April 20th. It features
once more the increasingly famous "Mac Girl"
created by H. W. McCauley, our popular cover
artist.

The cover is based on Ray Cummings' latest,
and one of his best, stories, "Onslaught of the
Druid Girls." It is perhaps better than his "The
Fire People"' of quite a few years ago, and is writ-
ten in the same style that made him a favorite in
his field. Don't miss either this grand story, or
this marvelous cover painting.

MANY of our read-
ers have asked for
an autobiography of Ed-
gar Rice Burroughs.
Therefore, we asked Mr.
Burroughs to write one
for us, We present it in
tin's issue, together with
two pictures. We think
it will give you a good
idea of what Mr. Bur-
roughs is like, and the
background for the
amazing Mr. Carter, Tar-
zan, et al.

SOMETIMES the
things Americans do
is an amazing story in
reality rather than in
imagination. Take for
instance our military "secret
dark!

Briefly, Joseph Lyman, of Huntington, N. Y.,
has taken out a patent on an enemy aircraft de-
tector, for use in darkness and in murky, foggy
weather. The device makes use of very short radio
waves— 600 megacycles — focused by parabolic re-
flectors into beams. These beams, directed into
the sky, bounce back when they hit metal.

The reflected signal is picked up by a coordi-
nated parabolic receiver, and appears as a moving
spot of light in a cathode ray tube. Thus the
plane's course is charted.

Then anti-aircraft batteries go into action.
Speculation is rife that Lyman's detector can be
adapted for use by defending interceptor planes.

Perhaps a British version of this device is the
reason for increased success recently against Nazi

Oh pshaw. Nothing ever happens around here.
." Sh-h-hl Keep it

night raiders.

How do we know all this? Easy. All the de-
tails of this great military secret are available to
any interested person at the U. S. Patent Office,
in Washington, D. C.

OIL and water won't mix, eh? Well, you, and
we, are wrong again ! And it's all because
of the lowly cranberry.

Caught in the inexorable march of science, this
little berry has now had its skin, its pulp, its pit
—oops, no pits, what a shame, we could have put
them to some use — converted into a new, and far
distant from its original, use.

Even its small seeds, which yield cranberry -seed
oil (how strange!) aren't wasted. Vitamin A may
be, in its turn, extracted from the oil. Ursolic acid
is taken from the skins.

Ursolic acid? Oh yes, it's used for that stunt we
talked about — oil mixed with water. Don't ask us
how it does it, it just does.

What we want to know is why? Unless it's the
castor oil with the grapefruit I In which case
we're not interested !

CASTING around the
world, we find a
happy people! Oh my,
and in these days I The
dictators should know !

These happy people are
none other than the
Eskimos, that nomadic
race of the frozen tun-
dras, where, to give you
our opinion, we'd scarcely
expect to find ourselves
exactly happy. But here's
why they are happy and
contented.

The main reason is a
rather satiric one. They
are .about 20.000 years
behind the times. In the
first place, they don't
"think" at all in the usual sense of the term. An
Eskimo can't concentrate on any one problem for
more than twenty minutes at a time. He has no
sense of time or hurry. He never bothers to pro-
vide against the future.

During the summer, Eskimo tribes are afflicted
with insomnia and generally restless. But during
the long, harsh winter they perk up and really en-
joy living.

Perfectly adapted to the rigors of Arctic winter,
almost every waking moment ia spent in foraging
for food. The average Eskimo family and its dogs
will consume fifty pounds of meat per day.
Authorities say there is practically nothing he can't
digest. He eats seal, caribou, raw fish — preferably
a little rotten, for flavor— and be drinks tea. But
he's happy !

So long, readers. See you next month. Rap

LOST TREASURE
OF ANGKOR

ISy James Norman

The Khymer treasure had been sealed in the box
for centuries, unopened, yet it was gone; and in
its place — the picture of a modern ball player!

ARCHEOLOGIST JACKSON tried
to be as cool about the dis-
" covery of the strange copper box
as the shimmering tropical heat would
allow. He wiped a feverish brow while
watching Duval finish photographing it.

"The Khymer treasure, at last ! And
this is it," he caught himself repeating
incredulously. "Step on it, Duval. Cut
the photos. Let's open it."

Duval smiled. Sweat poured down
his fat face.

"She has waited six hundred years
to be opened," he answered. "What

is five minutes more against so long?"

His camera clicked on with annoy-
ing regularity.

Jackson's excited gaze swept from
the treasure box placed on a table be-
fore their tent to the five massive stone
temple towers of Angkor Vat.

The buildings of a mysterious, van-
ished civilization rose dizzily into the
molten sky. Master builders those
Khymers had been! — carved roofs,
crumbling columns and step-pyramids
of the lost metropolis shouldered above
the cocoanut and fromanger trees of

Jhs oleum.r.g knife hovered the hypnotiied girl's b.o>,s:

AMAZINS STORIES

the Cambodian jungle like a mirage.

Jackson's gaze shifted back to the
box.

It was a large ornate chest, heavy
and encrusted with age. Time had
sealed it seven centuries ago. Now
its contents, the jewels of an empire,
would again flash in the light of day.

Jackson could hardly believe that
he and Duval had unearthed it in the
mysterious vaults beneath the main
Angkor temple. He ran his fingers
feverishly over the royal seal barely
visible on the lid.

"Yaya Varman's emblem," he com-
mented excitedly. "Yaya Varman, the
last king of the Khymers."

Plump little Duval glanced up.

"The legend, she is right," he nodded,
setting aside his camera quickly. "We
find the treasure where she say. Now
we have the honor to make history.
Quick ! We open her. We look at the
jewels — then I make more pictures."

Jackson's chisel was already eagerly
at work chipping away the blueish rust
and corrosion until the lip of the' cop-
per box stood bare.

"Give me a hand, Duval — quick."

Duval's agile fingers pushed against
the lid. It gave suddenly, slipping off
in a shower of rust flakes. Duval
gasped!

Jackson's gaze swept into the box.
Then he dropped the lid to the ground
and blinked incredulously. His vision
dimmed a second and his jaw relaxed
abnormally. The treasure box was
empty!

"We've been robbed!" Duval cried
angrily.

Jackson licked his dry lips, trying
to control his emotions. His burning
eyes dropped to the box again as if he
were half expecting the treasure to ap-
pear. Then he noticed the packet
bound in hide.

As his fumbling fingers unwrapped

the packet, a silver ring rolled across
the table. Duval snatched it up. The
Frenchman suddenly let out a frus-
trated roar. He shoved the ring under
Jackson's nose.

"What kind of joke is this?" he de-
manded. "The ring — Harvard, Class
of '34."

"A Harvard ring, here?" gasped
Jackson.

He stared in amazement at the silver
band. Then his eyes searched the re-
mainder of the packet. It included a
manuscript written on dry yellow
papyrus. The sheets were clipped at
the corner with a college fraternity pin.

Then he sucked his breath in sharply.
The manuscript was written in Eng-
lish!

"Now, I go mad!" shouted Duval,
tearing at his hair with stubby fingers.
"Look at this photograph — a baseball
player I"

LANTASTIC, but the stuff was there.

In addition to the manuscript, the
Harvard ring and the enameled fra-
ternity pin, the packet contained the
broken hilt of a beautiful cobra headed
emerald dagger. And there was that
astonishing photograph I

It had been cut out of the sport sec-
tion of a newspaper. It was brown
with age, yet it clearly revealed the
face and shoulders of a sandy-haired
young man whose mouth was curled in
a good natured smile. He wore a base-
ball uniform. Beneath it was printed
the single line:

Rip Corry, Detroit's Ace Hurler

"Corry is the fellow who disappeared.
Remember the broadcast?" Jackson
cried. "I wonder if. . . No, it's utterly
impossible ! "

"It's mad! " Duval cut in vehemently.

"This treasure box hasn't been
opened for over six hundred years,"
said Jackson. "I'll swear to that or

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

I'm no archeologist."

"Nonsense," spat Duval. "Read the
paper, the papyrus."

Jackson hastily flattened the sheets
of papyrus and began reading the few
lines of hurried scrawl at the top of the
first page:

"Angkor Vat, I2y8 a.d. This is an
SOS — /, Gregg Lee, and my companion,
Rip Carry, urgently request the finder
of this material to immediately contact
the American Science Society. Jf we
die on this expedition you may still be
able to save us!"

Duval whistled unbelievingly.

"Gregg Lee!" snapped Jackson. "I
know him well. He's a young physicist.
He works in the States."

"It's a joke," said Duval. "A hoax!
There were no Americans in the year
1278. I am angry. I will make a scan-
dal over this."

"Hold it," said Jackson. "Gregg Lee
is no man to pull a hoax like this. I
tell you, I think this is serious. This
box hasn't been opened in six hundred
years. Lee and Corry were in Angkor
Vat. Where they are now — God only
knows."

Duval clapped his stubby hand
across his forehead and sat down. He
reached for the medical kit and a bottle
of cognac.

"Pull yourself together," snapped
Jackson. "Let me finish this manu-
script. . . My god, do you realize 1278
was the date the Khymer inscription on
the temples stopped at? That's the
time their empire vanished — three mil-
lion people walked right out of their
cities and disappeared." *

*Wbat happened to the Khymer Empire in
Cambodia is actually the greatest unsolved archeo-
logica] detective story known. This mysterious
race, began in the second century after Christ, be-
came one of the greatest civilizations in the Orient.
They built vast cities and empires. Between 1250
and 1300 a.d. the entire civilization abruptly disap-
peared. Their cities were left in perfect order.

The Khymers were completely lost to history.

"Enough!" Duval exploded. "That's
history. Read the manuscript, quick! "

Jackson held the papyrus tightly in
his hands and began reading Gregg
Lee's manuscript in an excited, awed
voice.

* * *

CHAPTER II

Gregg Lee's Manuscript

A NGKOR VAT, 1278 a.d. This ad-
venture of Rip Corry and myself
began two weeks ago, or rather six
hundred and sixty-three years ago in
the future. It was April 10, 1941,
to be exact. . .

Corry and I were taking after-dinner
coffee in my Georgia place when Rip
made the fantastic suggestion which
led us to Angkor. I had been giving
him a brief picture of my experiments
in Time-Penetration. It really had
Rip gasping. His jaw hung like a jack-
o-lantern.

"You mean you go bouncing around
a couple of centuries back?" he de-
manded incredulously.

"That's right," I answered, some-
what amused. "I've perfected time-
travel. But until now, time-travel has
been limited to fiction."

"Ain't that enough!" Rip whistled
between his teeth. "I'm not saying I
believe you, Gregg. You were a little
wacky even when I was your room-
mate back at Harvard."

I picked up a sketch pad and made
a simple drawing for my dubious guest.
It was a plain circle, though somewhat

No one suspected the possibility of great cities
being hidden in the Cambodian jungles. There was
no written record to speak of, only legend.

Then, in 1870, Mouhet, a French naturalist,
startled the world with the discovery of Angkor
Vat. Since then a doaen other cities were located.
-Inscriptions furnished details about the empire but
archeologists don't know where this white race
came from, where they went, or why. — Ed.

AMAZING STORIES

elliptical in shape.

"That is the Time Curve," I ex-
plained.

"No beginning, no end, huh?" ob-
served Rip. "It's like a double header
game."

"That's right. But now, listen. Mat-
ter, like Time, has no beginning nor
end. It's never lost. It's always there
on the ellipse. But if something trav-
els around the time curve, certain
changes in form occur. We call it
'aging.' Cosmic rays are the cause of
this change but now the rays can be
warded off much the same as thick-
nesses of earth protect extinct forms
of animal life from changes. Mummies
have spanned time."

"Yeah, but they're dead," Rip inter-
rupted.

"But I do it alive!" I shot back.
"You?"

"Absolutely. I bisect the curve in-
stead of following it. Cosmic action in
the void is almost zero."

Rip's chair stopped rocking. He was
getting the idea. Astonishment re-
placed the doubtful furrows on his
brow.

"It sounds good after supper," he
grinned. "But seeing is believing.
Anyway, I'll stick to the subway where
I travel across something that is."

"You'd better look at the Time-Tor-
pedo," I smiled. "Come on."

Rip bounced out of his chair, stretch-
ing his limbs. For an instant I mar-
veled at those lanky arms of his — real
pitching arms.

T TF. appeared mildly impressed with
my experimental shop in the back
of the house although it lacked the
usual weird appearing apparatus one
sees in laboratories. Rip's keen eyes
swept past the giant generator and set-
tled on a sub-machine gun.
"Why that?" he asked.

"Just a precaution," I said.

His gaze ran on, finally settling with
interest on the huge metal egg at the
far end of the room.

"Your Time-Torpedo!" he gasped.
His grey eyes reflected the chaotic
thoughts the machine brought to his
mind. "It looks too heavy to move,"
he added.

"It's all alloy," I explained, tapping
the hull. "Beryllium skeleton, a lead
and pallium armor plating against cos-
mic rays."

Rip's amazement was salted with
good old American curiosity.

"How far will it go?" he asked.

"Don't know yet," I replied candidly.
"I've put a geotude in it."

"G-g-geotude?" stuttered Rip. "Say,
do you offer ten easy lessons when you
sell this thing?"

I explained the mathematical prin-
ciple of geodesy which makes it possi-
ble to use the space-warp for travel
after the Torpedo had once spanned
Time itself.

"I can land in Europe or Asia if I
wish to," I said.

"How about going past the Great
Flood?"

I shook my head.

"That's the catch," I said. "Money!
Money I I need a half-million dollars
to build a Torpedo strong enough to
break through pre-historic eras. Right
now I can only go back some nine hun-
dred years."

Rip's teeth suddenly clicked as if
they had cut through a carrot.

"I've got your million bucks!" he
cried excitedly.

"Y-y-you. . . Where?" I blurted
out.

"Archaeology ... my Lord, I studied
archaeology in college," cried Rip. "Not
for nothing . . . million bucks in the
library."

He made a dash out of the experi-

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

mental shop into the library room and
I followed at his heels like an inquisitive
hunting dog.

"Here, pal," Rip announced trium-
phantly, pulling an archaeology text-
book off the shelf and plunking it be-
fore me. "The hidden treasure of Ang-
kor. That's your half million bucks or
morel"

"A HIDDEN treasure?" I laughed
ironically. "What tommy rot ! "

"Rot, eh!" Rip growled. "That's
what everyone thought of the Angkor
legends until they actually found Ang-
kor Vat in the jungles."

I felt embarrassed. I had never sus-
pected easy-going Rip of getting hot
under the collar about hidden treasure
stories.

"What proof have you got that there's
such a treasure?" I asked.

Rip's answer was a dark scowl, as if
to say that he believed in my Time-
Torpedo so I ought to respect his fa-
miliarity with hidden treasures.

"How do I know?" he exploded.
"Maybe I've got a hunch. If one legend
was right, why not the next? Naturally,
the treasure hasn't been found because
Angkor hasn't been entirely explored."

"So — ?" I said.

"The treasure is there all right," Rip
repeated. "And I know where!"

"Well, knock me down with a
feather!" I half gasped. "Say it again,
Rip — but say it slower."

It could have been done literally. I
didn't even question Rip's knowledge
of treasures. Instead, I vaguely saw
myself digging fingers into heaps of
emeralds and sapphires.

Rip busily underscored a paragraph
in the book and shoved the piece under
my nose.

"Listen to this," he said, reading
aloud. "In Angkor, there is a statue
oj the jour-jaced Lord, Siva, sitting

upon a coiled cobra which is the symbol
of the nation. Beneath this statue of
solid emerald are the treasures of Ang-
kor."

I looked up somewhat bewildered and
doubtful. "All right," I grumped. "But
it's pretty indefinite. And maybe the
French archelogists in Cambodia have
found it already. Did they?"

Rip was acting pretty mysterious for
a baseball player. He smirked in
amusement at my question.

"Listen," he said, collaring me with
one hand. "You know the Angkor
story. The people vanished and no one
knows why. Maybe it was an invasion.
Anyway, according to the legends, the
high priest hid the treasures arid died
without revealing their whereabouts."

"Like the pot o' gold at the end of
the rainbow," I said.

Rip stared at me intently.

"Suppose I tell you exactly where the
old priest buried the treasure!" — Rip
paused to let this take effect. "Well,
it's in a crypt, five stories beneath the
ground in the middle of the central
pyramid of the temple."

"Where'd you find that?"

"One of the legends."*

I stared at Rip's flushed and excited
face and it reminded me of the old days
at Harvard, the Corry to Lee battery.
Rip used to look at me like that, wait-
ing for my signal, whenever he got into
a tight fix on the mound.

"You really believe in this treasure,
don't you, Rip?" I asked somewhat
shamefaced.

"Hell, I'm positive," he grunted.

I felt my resistance ebbing. If Rip
had been selling vacuum cleaners, I
would have been signing a check al-
ready. Suddenly I threw my arm

*Rip Corry is probably referring to a famous
Cambodian legend concerning the Hidden Treasure
of the Khymers. The reader can obtain further
details in R. Casey's volume on Angkor, "The Four
Faces of Siva." — Ed.

AMAZINS STORIES

around his shoulder.

"All right! I'm a treasure hunter,"
I said recklessly. "You beat it down
to spring training camp, I'll Time-Tor-
pedo to Angkor."

"Spring training be damned!" cried
Rip. "I'm a treasure hunter too. When
do we leave, tonight?"

J^IKE two boys playing hookey from
school, we sat down and made
plans. Rip was very stubborn about the
date we should set on the Time-Tor-
pedo. He was dead set on going back
to 1278 a.d., and no other date.

"There's a Chinaman I want to check
up on," he smiled secretively. "And
also, if we went back there now the
French who control Cambodia would
claim the treasure."

It sounded awfully idiotic, but 1278 it
was. To make things worse, Rip
dragged a pile of supplies into the Tor-
pedo. A more fantastic collection of
exploring equipment I have never seen.
It included a baseball bat, a piccolo,
a box of peanut brittle, some unattached
sox, two toothbrushes and razors . . .
Then . . .

"Why the Tommy-gun?" I blurted
out.

"Wolves!" grinned Rip.

"But you're not taking that piccolo,"
I said firmly. "I've had enough of that
half-baked flute in college."

"I gotta have it," pleaded Rip.
"When I get sore, I play scales before
I swing on someone."

"Romance before the battle," I
grunted disgustedly. "But that isn't
counting ten."

Rip clambered aboard the Torpedo.
There was ample room for three of four
men in the rubber cushioned control
chamber.

I snapped a service button, shutting
the outer door.

"Ready?" I asked drily.

For an instant, Rip looked like a tur-
key approaching Thanksgiving Day.
Then I touched the controls; first the
cosmic isolator shield, then the fre-
quency knob.

A sudden reek of burning insulation
flooded the shell. That wasn't accord-
ing to Hoyle. I worked desperately at
the dial bank trying to keep the fluores-
cent greenish light within the Time-
Torpedo from dying. Finally the com-
pact generator evened off and the shell
quivered with a mighty, muffled drum-
ming. The sound planed down into
the fields of sub-vibration.

"Take a look through the photo-cell
on the wall there," I called to Rip.
"We're hitting the space-curve."

In place of portholes, the Time Tor-
pedo was rigged with sensitized cells on
the inner and outer shell. It was a peri-
scopic setup for relaying instant photo-
graphs of the exterior world.

Rip stepped over to one of the plates,
waiting. Suddenly the Torpedo went
through a tremendous series of vibra-
tions and jerks.

Ignoring the funny look Rip gave me,
I concentrated on the instrument panel,
hastily aligning the controls. I cut the
cosmic isolator, switched on the geotude
and located our position by tracing the
needle on the geo-chart.

"Cambodia," I announced, checking
again. "We're back in the gravitational
fields — and it's 1278, as close as I can
make it out."

Suddenly Rip uttered a delighted
gasp. His eyes were glued to the photo-
cells where a strange mixture of yel-
lows and greens flooded the plates. I
glanced over just as the color lines be-
gan dovetailing. My eyes fairly popped
from their sockets.

A city of barbaric splendor lay be-
neath us. It was completely surrounded
by wide, sun-reflecting moats. A few
hundred yards to the south, connected

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

with the city by a long causeway, stood
the most fantastic temple in the Orient.

"Angkor Vat!" Rip cried and danced
excitedly. "We're rich, Gregg!"

"Wait until we get the treasure," I
cold-watered, though I didn't feel as
sober as I tried to look. "I'm landing
the Torpedo as close to the temple as
possible."

My eyes flashed between the control
and the photo-cells as I jockeyed the
Torpedo above the projecting towers
of the temple. For a moment we hov-
ered like some mysterious, weird crea-
ture over the Holy of Holies. Then I
saw something in the photo-cells that
completely sobered me . . .

"Look, Rip!" I cried. "There are
people in the temple. The treasure's
not ours yet."

CHAPTER III
King Yaya Varman's Sacrifice

'"TPAKE it easy," Rip shouted. "We're
busting right in on a ceremony."
Below us, countless heads were raised
in awe and confusion. The sunlight
on our Time-Torpedo added to it. I
saw a man fling himself from the dizzy
precipice of the temple. Twice, spears
hurled through the air at us in futile
arcs.

"I don't like it," Rip blasted out.
"We can't land here. They'll massa-
cre us."

"What do you want, an airport?"

"No, dammit! But get us out!"

"Too late. We've got to land before
I can set the Torpedo again."

I hurriedly scanned the temple for
a landing place. I picked the least
crowded terrace.

The temple itself was a three-stage
pyramid. The astonishing central tower
was surrounded on each stage by a
square of cloistered galleries. Four

stairways marched up the dizzy sides
of the pyramid at the points of the
compass.

There were pools of glistening jade
water on each stage, except the third
where steep and forbidding steps
leaped up to the final heights — an altar.
Here the Torpedo jarred upon stone.
Excited voices came from beyond the
shell.

I cut the controls.

"Better take a gun when you step
out." I warned Rip.

Rip slid the service door open before
the machine had stopped quivering. I
saw him step out gingerly, clutching
a baseball bat in one hand.

"Crazy — !" I yelled. At the same
time I pulled my revolver from the
wall locker.

The moment I stepped to the tem-
ple terrace the hot tropic sun hit me a
dazzling blow between the eyes. But
it wasn't the sun that made me gasp . . .

The terraces flashed brilliantly with
treasures of jade, emeralds, rubies and
precious metals. The temple towers
were encrusted with jasper while golden
figures of the God Siva frowned down
from a dozen pedestals.

On the lower terraces the tall, golden
skinned people of Angkor were kneel-
ing before us as if we were gods. I
didn't blame them. The Time-Torpedo
would frighten anyone.

"They haven't buried the treasure
yet," Rip called. "They're still wear-
ing the stuff. What do we do? Stick
around?"

I turned and suddenly saw Rip
bouncing up a flight of narrow stairs
toward the great sacrificial altar which
was overshadowed by a gigantic emer-
ald figure of Siva.

"Don't be a fool, Rip," I shouted.

Almost instantly I saw what was
happening. A half dozen priests turned
away from the altar, giving me a

AMAZING STORIES

glimpse of what was going on. My
Lord! What a sacrifice! A lovely
golden haired girl was bound hand and
foot before the altar stone. Her wrists
were fastened with silver chains.

Suddenly a gleaming knife hovered
above the girl's breast. The blade
flashed down, a path of death in the
sunlight.

"CTOP that!" I roared. Then some-
thing whizzed through the air. The
whirling missile clipped the hand of
the High Priest, knocked the dagger
loose and clattered down the steps with
it. It was Rip's baseball bat.

The High Priest let out a yowl of
anguish.

"Wish you were the St. Louy pitch-
er," Rip yelled at the astonished priest.

"Get back here, Rip!" I shouted and
started after him.

Rip didn't hear. He took the steps
four at a time, charging right into the
yellow robed priests. There was a sud-
den flash of knives.

Up went my revolver. I squeezed
once, twice. Two priests pulled away,
nursing bloody wrists. The others were
stunned by the noise. Then I trained
my sights on the silver chains holding
the girl's wrists. Another shot and the
chains snapped in the air.

A sudden gasp of amazement came
from the people kneeling on the lower
terrace. The throngs of worshipers
who had come to witness a living sacri-
fice, surged up the temple steps — and
strangely, there was no sound of anger.
Instead, they pressed forward to get
a closer glimpse of us. Even now they
stopped short of the final terrace which
seemed to be reserved for royalty and
the priesthood.

The golden-haired girl stood, terri-
fied and trembling, not knowing what
to make of the confusion. She was more
than beautiful — particularly the way

her frightened eyes were fastened upon
Rip as he slipped his arm around her
slim waist, leading her down the altar
toward the Time-Torpedo.

A murmur of anger came from the
priests again.

"They think you're swiping the girl,"
I cried. "Don't get in the Torpedo."

"You're bats," snapped Rip. "Fetch
the Tommy-gun."

The girl seemed to get the idea of
what I was saying. She pulled Rip's
arm, holding him back. That was
hardly necessary, however. One glance
from her soft eyes and Rip melted like
butter.

"Nunck Pasha!" the girl said in a
clear voice.

"Okay," Rip grinned disconcertedly.
"I hope you all know what you're doing.
I don't."

She repeated the same phrase in that
queer, untoned jargon which sounded
vaguely familiar. Slowly it dawned
upon me. It was almost like the present
day Cochin-China dialect.

"My Lord, Rip!" I cried. "I think
I can talk her language. I know a
bit of the dialect."

Rip ignored me. He was staring at
the girl with unabashed admiration un-
til her cheeks flushed and she turned
her eyes away.

Suddenly a crashing of cymbals and
the silver notes of trumpets blared
across the causeway leading from the
city to the temple. AH eyes turned in
that direction.

"Yaya Varman," I heard the girl say.

A CROSS the causeway a dazzling
sight met my eyes. Sunlight flashed
from a thousand gold and crimson para-
sols. Phalanxes of lumbering elephants
and warriors in gleaming chariots
poured across the causeway.

"My God!" Rip gasped. "If Grover
Whalen and the World's Fair could

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

only see this ! "

"We've got to stick together," I
answered.

"You argue with the king," said Rip.
"I'm getting the Tommy-gun."

Within a few minutes the king's ele-
phant lumbered up a ramp to the sec-
ond terrace of the temple. Yaya Var-
man dismounted and approached. He
was a big man. His hair and skin was
unusually dark and he had a hard, tur-
tle-like face.

"Now explanations," I muttered, see-
ing the High Priest run to the king's
side. The priest talked a blue streak.
He pointed repeatedly at the girl, using
the name, Mera. Then he indicated
Rip and me landing by whirling his
good hand to imitate the flight of the
Time Torpedo. Finally, he seemed com-
pletely bewildered when it came to ex-
plaining his smashed wrist and the
pistol shots.

"I decided it was time to take over.

"Yaya Varman," I said, stepping for-
ward and raising my hand peacefully.

The king leaped back an instant. I
saw him draw an emerald, cobra dagger
while the royal lancers edged forward,
spears level. The girl, Mera, suddenly
stepped in and spoke quickly to the
king. I barely understood a word.

"Ask him when he's going to bury the
treasure," Rip butted in.

Yaya Varman turned to a group of
officials standing behind him and sig-
naled one of them to approach. A China-
man! It was incredible.

"It's Ta-Quan," Rip interrupted hap-
pily. "By Jeeps, it's him, I'll bet."

The little Chinese looked surprised,
and so did I. He recovered first and
with a strange mixture of sign language
and Cochin dialect, said :

"Tcheou Ta-Quan, ambassador from
Peking to the court of Angkor."

"How'd you know him?" I turned
to Rip.

"Simple," Rip grinned. "Some day
I'll take you to the public library and
show you the picture books. Ta-Quan
is an old school-mate of mine — which
proves this is the year 1278 a.d."

I stared at Rip and the old China-
man, wondering if my eyes and ears
hadn't framed some weird plot against
my common sense.

"Yaya Varman," said the Chinaman,
first pointing to the king and then at
Rip, "say the tall white prince with
thunder stick must take command of
the armies of Angkor. You will live in
the Palace of the Rope Walkers."

"What's he saying?" demanded Rip.

"Maybe I'm crazy," I answered,
hesitantly. "But it sounds like you're
going to be a general."

"A general!" Rip gulped. "What the
hell of?"

CHAPTER IV

Trouble in Angkor

" A RYA DECA, the land of the
North," Ta-Quan repeated in
a friendly, though puzzled manner, a
few days later.

I grinned and tried again, using every
word I could muster of the strange
Oriental vocabulary.

"Not Arya Deca," I explained pa-
tiently. "We came from America.
Can't you get the idea, Ta-Quan?
America."

I traced a map on the floor of our
luxurious palace quarters, indicating
America's position. Then I drew a cal-
endar, showing the rotation of the moon
to give the friendly old ambassador the
idea of years.

"You see," I said. "America — six
hundred and sixty-two years in the
future."

Ta-Quan smiled knowingly, pointing
at me, then at a statue of Siva.

AMAZING STORIES

"All right," I said. "You seem dead
set on chalking us up for gods like
Siva just because you can't explain our
appearance in any other way. But that
isn't the point. I'm trying to tell you,
just as I've been trying to warn the
king, that the Khymer race is doomed.
It's not going to be here in another few
years."

Both Ta-Quan and the girl gave Rip
and me that same confused look which
we repeatedly got every time we warned
them about the future of Angkor.

Rip Corry smiled at the old China-
man. He put aside the piccolo which
he was trying to teach Mera to play.

"Give it up, Gregg," he said amus-
edly. "Ta-Quan's got no worry about
the future. Next week he goes back
to China so the future will know about
him."*

I turned to Mera. In the past few
days she had become quite friendly.

"Do you believe what we say?" I
asked her as best I could.

She stared at me. Then her eyes set-
tled upon Rip. She smiled warmly.

"Sure," I observed drily. "Whatever
Rip says in public with his twenty-word
vocabulary isn't the same as what he
tells you in private."

Mera dropped her eyes while a rosy
flush filled her cheeks. Perhaps she did
understand what I said.

"Cut it out," grinned Rip. "At least
what I tell Mera, and the way I tell it,
isn't going to change history. You can't
go around stopping these people from
vanishing. Do like I do. I'm trading
Mera music lessons for lessons in her
lingo when I'm not busy reviewing my
army."

It was plain that in the short time
since we had ap peared in Angkor, Rip

*Corry refers to the fact that Tcheou Ta-Quan
returned to the Court of Peking from Angkor and
in 1296 published a book on Angkor. Until the re-
discovery of Angkor-Vat seventy years ago his
writings were looked upon as imaginative fairy
tales.— Ed.

had easily fallen into the role of being
a Prince of Angkor. He had accepted
the job of commander-in-chief of the
royal armies which he was gradually
whipping into shape as well as teaching
them pidgin English.

When he wasn't at the military field
just beyond the king's palace, he was
with Mera.

Of course he didn't know, or quite
care how all this had happened. It was
Ta-Quan who explained these things
to me.

"Mera was being sacrificed to Siva
because the wild Thais hordes were
sweeping down toward Angkor from
the northwest," he explained. "When
your friend, Reep, saved the girl, the
priests told Yaya Varman it was a sign
from the Heavens. The priests said
that Reep had come to save Angkor.
To defeat the Thais."

"So that's why you're returning to
China?" I said.

"Now is time to go to the land
of my honorable ancestors," Ta-Quan
smiled. "Confucius say that man is not
apt to live with enemy at his back."

"Are you worried?"

"No. Only careful," the old man's
eyes twinkled. "Siva is a hungry mas-
ter, particularly when the army is weak
and the Thais hordes are almost clam-
oring at the moats of Angkor. I leave
tomorrow."

I stared through the palace window
into the street below, seeing the amaz-
ing pageanty of an Oriental army move
toward the gates of the city, preparing
for the Thais. File after file of war ele-
phants, charioteers, armored foot-sol-
diers and slaves went by.

"Might I suggest," said Ta-Quan,
"that you and your friend and Mera the
princess come with me."

'T'HE following morning, Ta-Quan
departed without us. Rip was very

LOST TREASUR

vehement about remaining in Angkor.
"We've got the Time-Torpedo if any-
thing breaks loose," he declared. "Why,
they've even made an altar for it, up
there on the temple."

"You mean you've got Mera," I
countered.

"What of it?" demanded Rip.
"You've got a job too. You've got to
keep your eye on the treasure."

He pulled the inevitable piccolo from
his pocket and whistled off a couple of
scales. Suddenly he paused and stared
at the door with a funny expression on
his handsome face.

I glanced in that direction, then
choked back a gasp of horror.

A slave girl slowly crawled through
the doorway. Her face and body were
cruelly slashed with knife wounds and
her leg, which dragged behind, was
broken.

In an instant Rip and I carried the
girl to a couch.

"She's Mera's attendant," cried Rip.

I forced a bit of sweet rice wine be-
tween the girl's burning lips and tried
to help her. Then she smiled wanly
and tried to speak in a hoarse whisper.

"Mera . . ." she gasped. "Thais com-
ing .. . Yaya Varman take Princess
Mera for peace offering to Thais."

The girl clutched my arm as if she
were falling backward into an abyss.
Then her fingers went limp.

"My God !" I cried. "She's dead."

I looked up and saw the fury rising
in Rip's hard face. For a moment he
had been stunned; now he was gal-
vanized into action.

"They're giving Mera to the Thais as
a peace hostage!" he shouted. "Over
my dead body, they will ! "

I raced after Rip, out of the palace,
toward the city gates. My legs had
never worked as fast as his and I soon
lost ground. I reached the city gates
and crashed through the guard there to

OF ANGKOR 55

the causeway across the moat.

Then, out of breath and gasping, I
burst upon the royal procession that
was being sent to meet the advancing
Thais. For a moment I saw the look of
hopeless resignation upon Mera's face.
Rip was standing in the center of the
road, blocking the way.

"What the devil is this!" I heard him
shout at the king who was accompany-
ing the procession to the edge of the
moat.

Yaya Varman flushed angrily, prob-
ably not understanding a word Rip said,
but understanding the tone of voice.

Rip pulled his revolver.

"You're going to do this my way,"
he shouted. "Mera goes back with me."

A crafty scowl darkened the king's
face. I edged toward Rip, my revolver
already in my hand. Then Rip turned
to me.

"You keep out of this, Gregg!" he
snapped. "I'm running the bases."

"I'm coaching, then," I cut in.

We were completely surrounded by
Yaya Varman's guards. They were
only waiting for a signal from their
king. We could kill him and account
for a half dozen others, but there were
more than fifty around us.

Then I heard the king and the priest
murmuring. At the same time my ears
caught the overtone of noise in the dis-
tance. What was it? I had a vague
premonition and now I knew that I was
right.

"The Thais!" I shouted excitedly.
"Look!"

Out across the plains surrounding
Angkor a vast tide of elephants and
warriors materialized. A wave of spears
swept into view. From one end of the
horizon to the other the plains seemed
to fill with savage Thais warriors. A
few stragglers from the Khymer army,
that had been sent out days before, fled
in the face of the invaders.

AMAZING STORIES

CHAPTER V
Battle

J^IP swept his arm around Mera, lift-
ing her into a chariot.

"Okay," Rip yelled eagerly. "Strat-
egy — that's what we need. We'll fight.
The home army will man the city walls.
The guns go to the north gate where
the main wedge of the attack will
break. Gregg, you take command of the
West Gate defenses. Shoot down the
elephants and horses. Let them jam the
causeways . . ."

Rip interrupted his staccato instruc-
tions to quickly kiss Mera.

"Kid," he said. "You lead the women
to the temple, keep them there."

"What about him?" I demanded,
pointing to the king and his priests.

The king was as white as a sheet at
the thought of fighting the Thais. Rip
frowned at him a moment, then his face
brightened.

"The treasure," he grinned. "Gees,
we can't forget that. Yaya Varman will
see that the treasures of Angkor are
safely guarded in the temple. Then
Yaya Varman will command the de-
fenses at the Victory Gate."

Without further formality Rip drove
his chariot over the cobbled causeway
into the city proper.

Meanwhile the cries of the approach-
ing army became clearer and the very
earth trembled beneath the ponderous
tread of their war elephants. We had
only enough time to clear the city for
action before the first wave of ranting
warriors surged toward the moats sur-
rounding Angkor.

I saw little of Rip and nothing of
Mera during the remainder of the day.
Two early attacks were staged against
my position at the West Gate. For five
hours we blocked the causeway with a
solid wall of warriors and elephants.

The clash of armor, death cries of
wounded warriors as their bodies piled
up in the moats and the mad trumpet-
ing of elephants sounded above the
angry bark of my revolver.

The Thais came on, heedless of the
loss of life. They sent men into the
moats on logs in order to get around
our rear and flank us. Finally we had
to withdraw within the city gates.

Abruptly the attack shifted. A col-
umn of Thais swept around to the Vic-
tory Gate while the larger body pushed
against the North Gate. We were on
the walls now, pitching boiling tar and
huge stones upon invaders as they thun-
dered upon the gates.

The Thais threw scaling ladders
against the walls and we tossed them
back into the moats. At one point, a
Thais warrior gained the top of the
wall. I aimed at his head. My gun
clicked emptily. No ammunition left.
A strange feeling of terror swept
through me as I threw my pistol madly
at the warrior's head and seized a two-
edged long sword.

Leaping after the Thais, I plunged
the sword into his throat, the blade
sinking to the hilt.

Then Rip appeared on the wall. His
clothes were torn and his face grimly
set.

"We've got to clear out," he snapped.
"No ammo left for the Tommy-gun
and they've broken into the city. The
king deserted the Victory Gate and let
the Thais in."

"The Time-Torpedo!" I cried.

"Quick," Rip shot back. "We've
got to fight our way to the temple.
Hell's broken loose in the streets. I'm
getting Mera. Y'ou set the Torpedo."

\X7'E cut across the city toward the
great temple. Angkor was like a
great cauldron of confusion. The city
was rapidly emptying . . . but not rap-

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

idly enough. The south and east gates
were jammed with terror stricken fugi-
tives. Crippled ancients, women with
babies at their breasts, soldiers and
slaves, fought with each other to get
out of the city. Already, the road
southward was blanketed by a tide of
panic stricken humans.

Thais advance guards came crashing
down along the avenue before the royal
palace. The gutters ran red. The
wooden residential district was in
flames. In their wake, the Thais left
thousands of corpses strewn along the
streets. There no longer was any fight-
ing. There was no discipline save in
the systematized vandalism and slaugh-
ter.

Near the temple causeway we ran
into a band of raiding Thais. Snub
nosed little asiatics, they were.

"Now we are trapped!" I cried.

"We'll see about that!" yelled Rip.

He charged headlong into the band
of five, swinging his heavy two handed
sword in a deadly arc. A Thais war-
rior screamed, seeing his sheared arm
spin sickeningly across the pavement.
Then I brought my blade into play,
jamming it into a Thais chest.

Rip was everywhere. One instant I
saw him parrying with two warriors.
His sword swished over a helmet and
split through to the skull. It whirled
back over another warrior's shoulders.
Then a headless body crumbled at my
feet, bathing the street crimson.

I accounted for the last man with a
thrust between the eyes.

"Five to two," grinned Rip after it
was over. "Short and sweet."

"Step on it," I snapped back as I
ran across the temple causeway.

Reaching the temple, I glanced back
upon the city and surrounding plains
for an instant. The barbarians had al-
ready swept through most of the city.

"It's the end of Angkor and the

Rhymers," I grunted, not without a
trace of sadness.

Then I turned toward the Time-Tor-
pedo. For a moment I stood there,
dumbfounded.

"It's wrecked ! " I suddenly screamed.

The door of the Torpedo had been
wrenched off and even the delicate ma-
chinery inside had been smashed.

I stared blankly, for it was as if the
world had crumbled beneath my feet.
The tangled mess of machinery was a
death sentence. We were doomed to
remain in Cambodia — but not just
Cambodia. We were doomed to live
in the thirteenth century ! Or die!

TRIP'S reassuring hand pressed upon
my shoulder.

"Come on," he said grimly. "It's
spilt milk. No use crying. We can
chalk that up to Yaya Varman. Let's
be calm about this. The first thing
we've got to do is get out of here with
Mera and the treasure. After that
we'll worry about a new Torpedo."

A few seconds later we were running
through the subterranean passages be-
neath the central tower of the temple.
At one end of the passage we came to
the chambers where the women had
taken refuge. ■

They were emptyl

"Down to the treasure room," I said.
"If that's gone, then he's kidnaped her
and the treasure."

Reaching the gloomy treasure vault
we found the priest who had guarded
the treasure, murdered. The vault
door was smashed in.

I passed the beam of my flashlight
over the stone interior. The heavy cop-
per chest in which the jewels had been
packed was open and empty. On the
floor below it, lay the hilt of Yaya Var-
man's cobra knife.

"Rip," I said, "I think I know where
they've gone."

AMAZINS STORIES

Rip's face lighted up suddenly.

"The Hidden City," I said. "Ta
Quan let me in on it. Only a select
number of Khymers know its exact lo-
cation. It's off to the southeast, in a
jungle area, completely hidden."

"What the hell are we waiting for?"
snapped Rip. "I'm going after Mera.
Are you with me?"

I nodded positively. "Sure I'm with
you. . . But I'm going to send for help
first. Give me a few hours. We will be
safe here for awhile."

"Help!" cried Rip. "Are you crazy.
Who's going to help us? The Thais?"

"The American Science Society."

Rip almost blew up then and there.
I had to explain very carefully why I
wanted to leave this manuscript in the
treasure box along with the Time-Tor-
pedo design I had with me.

Even as I write these last lines be-
fore we attempt to leave Angkor for
the Hidden City, Rip is still convinced
that nothing on earth can save us for
we will be dead for many centuries
before these words are read. And now
we must go, or we will be dead before
the ink on this manuscript is dry!

(Signed) Gregg Lee.

ARCHEOLOGIST JACKSON'S trem-
bling fingers dropped the Lee manu-
script and he wiped his parched lips.

"So?" said Duval. "What are we
going to do? The story is incredible."

"What would you do?"

"Help them," Duval answered.
"Help them across six centuries. . . .
Help dead men? Is it possible?"

Jackson picked up the design for
Lee's Time-Torpedo, studying it. Then
he nodded his head vehemently.

"By God! We will!"

ARCHEOLOGIST JACKSON and
Duval built the new Time-Tor-
pedo in Saigon. It was the nearest civ-

ilization center where the required ma-
terials could be gotten. It took six
months, six months while the two
burned with curiosity and an anxiety
that seemed rather ridiculous at times.
As Duval often said:

"They have been dead for cen-
turies!"

And yet, with that certainty before
them, the Time-Torpedo, growing be-
neath their hands, gave the lie to Fate.
With this machine, and the strange
science that it employed, they could
circumvent the paradox of time past.

So, with all possible haste, they
worked to complete the Torpedo.

Finally it was finished. With a last-
minute feverish checking up of sup-
plies, they clambered into the machine
and took their seats.

A low humming filled the interior of
the Time-Torpedo. They had named
it the "Two," and it was a machine
somewhat larger than the one in which
Gregg Lee and Rip Corry had gone
to Angkor.

Archeologist Jackson set the Time-
Void dial. A needle quivered, register-
ing the swift passage of decades — into
the past— 1800, 1500, 1300, 1278. . . .

"You're sure the Hidden City, she
will be beneath us?" asked Duval
nervously.

Jackson nodded.

"I've checked and rechecked until
I'm dizzy. If we do not appear directly
over it, I shall never navigate another
vehicle in my whole life, not even a
baby carriage."

"That, she is a statement you cannot
predict," grinned Duval.

He turned, then, and fumbled in a
packing crate. He removed a Tommy-
gun and fondled it lovingly.

"Soon, maybe, cherie, we use you,
no?" he muttered.

On the photo-cells now a strange mix-
ture of yellows and greens were flood-

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

ing. Jackson slowed down the Time-
Torpedo, and the color lines began
dove-tailing. Then, suddenly, so
quickly that they were dazed by its
appearance, they saw below them, a
matter of a hundred feet or so, a stone
temple.

"A church!" yelled Duval. "And,
by Heaven, she is aflame!"

"Look," shouted Jackson, pointing
in horror. "What have we barged
into !."

"Ants!" gasped Duval". "Giant ants
... it is impossible!"

"They're attacking the temple,"
Jackson said. "Look, down there! . . ."

Below, behind a wall of flame that
ringed the temple, three tiny figures
were visible. And the flames, obviously
from burning tar that had been poured
down from the walls, were dying.
Through the breaches that were now
opening, were pouring hordes of the
horrible giant ants.

"That man!" screamed Duval. "I
would know him even off the baseball
diamond. ... He is Rip Corry! And
that girl! Magnifique . . A"

"Never mind the girl!" roared Jack-
son. "Open the door and get that
Tommy-gun going, or they won't be
alive in another sixty seconds. We've
arrived just in time!"

T~\TJVAL yanked open the door with a
fluent French curse, and leveled
his weapon while Jackson drove the
Time-Torpedo down toward the ground.
The wild chatter of it rose above the
crackle of the flames, and above the
whine of the Torpedo. Ants crumpled
in heaps, and their inward rush upon
the helpless humans in the temple was
halted as they piled up, one upon the
other, in their mad attack.

Down below, the besieged humans
looked up, joyous wonder and amaze-
ment on their features.

Jackson drove the Time-Torpedo to
the ground, and Duval poured a last
burst at the now milling, confused ants.

"Rapid!" bellowed Duval. "This is
not the time to play at the games!"

The three astounded people, Rip
Corry, Gregg Lee, and the Princess
Mera stumbled through the door that
Duval held open. When they were
safely inside, he slammed it shut.

"Up, Monsieur Jackson," he shouted.
"The ants . . . they come!"

Jackson shot the Time-Torpedo into
the air. When he had reached a height
of several hundred feet, he stopped the
machine and turned. He held out his
hand.

"Gregg Lee, I presume," he smiled.

And Gregg Lee grinned in return.

"Correct, Mr. Stanley," he chortled.
"I never was so glad to see a fellow
man in all my life."

"It's damn fortunate you left that
manuscript and the machine design in
the treasure box at Angkor," Jackson
said to Lee. "Duval and I got this
Torpedo built just in the nick of time."

"We put it together in Saigon," in-
terrupted Duval.

"Those few minutes in which we
landed to pick you up make it pretty
clear just how the whole Khymer race
vanished," continued Jackson, "but
how about giving us the rest of the
story after you left Angkor? How'd
you get into the Hidden City?"

"And tell what happened to the girl,"
sighed Duval, looking at Mera's love-
liness.

Gregg Lee smiled tiredly.
"All right," he said. "I'll give you
the story . . ."

CHAPTER VI
The Hidden Stairway

■y^HEN we finally buried the manu-
script and my design for the Tor-

AMAZING STORIES

pedo in the Angkor treasure vault, I
shared Rip Corry's doubts. Would
someone, seven hundred years in the
future, discover the ransacked treasure
box? It seemed impossible. Would
they find the mysterious Hidden City
that we ourselves searched for? Or,
would our SOS remain silent through-
out the ages to come?

Darkness had already fallen upon
the invaded city of Angkor. Thais
warriors had entered the temple a few
minutes after we buried the manuscript
and we were trapped again. Twice they
came close to discovering us in the sub-
terranean passage.

"We'll wait until the moon goes
down," I warned Rip. "Then we'll
escape through the same secret passage
Yaya Varman used."

Meanwhile we took an inventory of
our equipment. Our guns were useless
for lack of ammunition. I had thrown
my pistol away. However, we each
had a Khymer broad-sword. I had my
compass and flashlight.

Somehow, even through the fighting,
Rip had held on to his piccolo and
toothbrush.

After a nervous wait we finally set
out. We followed the narrow beam of
my flashlight, cutting through two cor-
ridors deep within the temple until we
entered the low, secret passage that
ran beneath the moats surrounding
Angkor. The roughly hewn stones of
the passage were moist and slippery.

Farther on, we stepped into a larger
corridor and found a stairway leading
to an exit outside the walls of the city.
Starlight was visible at the stairhead.

"No wonder the king got away," I
said. "A dozen soldiers could have
slipped through here taking Mera and
the treasure."

Abruptly, Rip's fingers clamped on
my arm, demanding silence. It was so
dark I could barely see him.

"Get your bread knife ready," he
whispered. I heard the clink of his
sword.

Then I made out the silhouette of
a squat Thais guard at the stairhead.
Apparently he had not heard the noise
of Rip's blade, nor the whispering.
We moved slowly until we were a bare
yard behind him.

Suddenly the man gurgled — but only
once. His eyes bulged hideously, his
mouth and nostrils dilated, sucking
for air as Rip's arm clamped around
his throat with the steadiness of a vice.
I heard a sickening snap. The guard
hung limply in Rip's arms, his neck
broken.

"Easy," Rip hissed. "We'll get the
elephants out of the corral." He slid
the dead man's body down the stairs.

"Ready?" I said, stepping into the
night. Angkor flamed against the sky
on my right — a great funeral pyre for
the million people who had been
trapped within those walls.

HPHE ruddy fire glow revealed a herd
of war elephants tethered a short
distance away.

"Use your sword," Rip signaled.

The great beasts stomped and tugged
at their foot-ropes and trumpeted nerv-
ously as we ran between them. For a
wild moment we slashed the tethers,
releasing the beasts.

Rip vaulted into the basket saddle
on one elephant and dragged me up
behind him.

"Now, plenty of noise! Heckle
'em!" he shouted. "We'll stampede
them all over the place."

We set up a terrific din until the
elephants surged around in fright.
They trumpeted and bolted off across
the dark plain in a solid group making
the earth tremble beneath their slug-
gish onrush. I hung on for dear life.
Every jolt of the basket-saddle felt

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

as if it were going to be the last one.

"D-d-do you know how to s-s-steer
this thing?" I stuttered at Rip between
breaths.

Rip chuckled aloud.

"Sure, it's like running a Fifth Ave-
nue bus."

He urged the elephant on with a
curious variety of nouns and adjectives,
but the beast seemed to respond best
to a couple of light jabs from a long-
sword and to the name, Sadie. Finally
Rip turned Sadie away from the rest
of the herd and headed her along the
Southeast road at a steady gait.

As the sun edged over the rolling
Cambodian horizon, Sadie slowed down
and became ornery. We were both pretty
tired and Rip was silent and grim while
trying to manage the elephant. His
jaw and sandy hair looked like molded
iron in the early light.

I would have given anything to get
off our two ton transport and curl up
in the shadow of one of those enormous
ant-hills that dotted the Cambodian
countryside.

All at once Rip came out of his black
mood.

"Hey, am I seeing things," he cried.

I swerved my gaze in the direction of
his pointing finger. Less than a half
mile away the flat rice fields stopped
abruptly at a narrow stream. On the
other side a dense growth of trees shot
upward, forming a dark sheer wall.

"Now we've got our bearings," 1 ob-
served hopefully. "The Hidden City
is northwest. We've got to find the
west ravine in the jungles. From there
the Hidden City is at a point where
a second ravine runs north and south."

"Too bad we can't take Sadie along
as our safari," Rip grinned as the ele-
phant lumbered to the edge of the
stream and slushed around in the shal-
lows.

"Too much jungle," I grunted.

We located the beginning of the Hid-
den City trail and abandoned Sadie.
The trail curved into the jungle brush
and soon petered out in a sea of tall
snake grass that ripped and cut at our
flesh.

CUNLIGHT barely pierced the heavy
mass of liana and fern, but we felt
it. The heat beat across the jungle
with tropic force until the air felt like
a dank, gloomy sponge pressing about
us. Twice I stopped, petrified, while
cobras slid silently across the path.
Luckily the serpents paused only long
enough to swell out their hoods before
deciding, not to give battle.

After what seemed hours of this, I
found myself grinning idiotically at the
gibbons that hurled themselves through
the tree tops. I was so dazed, I won-
dered why Rip stopped after a little
while.

"It's the ravine," he said, excitedly.
"The westward ravine 1"

"Where's the Hidden City?" I asked.

"Come on, it's still hidden."

Rip ran ahead, leaping over gullies
and black stagnant pools, crashing
through the brush. The thought of
Mera close at hand, spurred him on.
Then the ground dipped again — a north
and south ravine.

I stared ahead keenly but there was
no sign of the Hidden City anywhere.
No sign of anything that remotely sug-
gested human activities since the dawn
of civilization.

"For the Lord's s !" Rip's voice

stopped on a note of surprise.

It was followed by the sound of rot-
ten wood and falling stones. Then,
abruptly, Rip vanished into the earth.

I rushed forward fearfully, only to
gaze into a gaping hole at the base of
a fromanger tree. It was filled with
broken branches and caved in earth.
Then I noticed the steps going down.

AMAZING STORIES

"Rip!" I yelled. "Answer me, Rip!"

The snap of a branch sent me spin-
ning around on my toes. My hand
dropped automatically to my sword
handle.

"Thais!" The word froze on my
lips as I faced the savage band of sol-
diers who so suddenly materialized out
of the jungle.

There was no time to wait for Rip.
I prepared to do battle alone. Sweeping
the terrain in at a glance, I edged up
the ravine slope, intending to use every
advantage I could. Then the Thais
charged forward with a wild howl in
their throats.

There was the clash of steel upon
steel. I parried with the first two sol-
diers though the jungle brush hindered
the swing of my sword. I used it like
a rapier.

The blade opened the chest of one
of the men and ripped along his ribs.
Blood spurted up my sword to the cross.
Suddenly a copper bludgeon loomed be-
fore my eyes like a huge sledge ham-
mer. I ducked to the side, but not
quickly enough.

My head seemed to explode — swirls
of colors streamed before my eyes and
my legs sagged as if someone had jerked
the bones out of them.

CHAPTER VII
Mister Marco Polo

TT was night when I regained con-
sciousness. First I thought I was
blind for all that I could see was a
carbon film with tiny pinholes of light
shinning through. Then I realized the
pinholes were stars.

I was acutely conscious of a tre-
mendous welt, the size of a fist, on my
forehead. My hands hurt also. They
were tightly bound behind my back.
I wondered if Rip had been captured

and soon I began calling his name aloud.

A Thais soldier approached, his squat
body outlined against a campfire. A
crushing blow suddenly struck me in
the side and I rolled helplessly upon
my face, gasping for air. The guard
returned to the campfire.

With daylight it became evident that
I was no longer in the jungles and that
I was not alone as a prisoner. There
were thirty other Rhymer prisoners,
bound and guarded. Rip was not among
them.

A little while later we were joined by
a larger group and made to march along
the road to Angkor. Slowly I realized
what fate had been cut out for me. A
brass chain was fastened to my leg and
linked to the leg of another man. / was
a slave.

"They take us to the quarries beyond
the great Tone Sap lake," explained the
old Khymer who was chained to me.

"Not if I can help it," I replied
grimly.

"We will die there in the sun, just as
did the Thais slaves my people captured
in past years," he said.

My mind was already working out a
plan of escape.

"Where are the quarries? How far?"
I asked the old man.

"The quarries," the old man an-
swered slowly. "Death would be bet-
ter."

A Thais guard rode by on horseback
to silence our conversation. His whip
lashed at us. Suddenly I jerked his foot,
dragging him from the horse. Pulling
him to me with one hand, I smashed my
fist into his jaw. He went out cold.

"Quick," I shouted at the top of my
voice. "Overwhelm the others.
Escape ! "

'~pHE air was filled with confused
cries. The Rhymers milled around
without having sense enough to make a

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

break for freedom. My own hopes
quickly faded when a dozen other
guards surrounded me.

"H alto I Halto!" a firm voice quickly
established order.

Halto — I couldn't believe my ears.
That command was given in Portu-
guese!

The man who had issued the order
was a blunt, grinning officer who looked
as out of place among the Thais sol-
diery as a Ming vase looks in a ten-
cent store. His shoulders were a yard
wide and, save for the seaman's bear-
ing, he looked like a professional wres-
tler.

For a moment I stared wide-eyed at
this olive skinned stranger who wore the
trappings of a Thais officer.

He returned my gaze, evenly. Then
his sharp eyes shifted to the body of
the Thais guard I had knocked out. The
stranger seemed impressed since I car-
ried no weapons.

"Amigo — friend! Who are you?" I
asked in his native tongue.

His firm lips parted in surprise, then
curved in a friendly fashion. His eyes
were fastened on the compass hanging
from my belt.

"A mariner," he cried excitedly.

I shook my head.

"Mariner!" he repeated hopefully.
"I am also a mariner. I, Pacco Gon-
zales de la Mura y Braga. And you —
I have look for you many times Senor
Polo."

"Polo?" I replied. Then I burst out
laughing. "Marco Polo."

"Si, Senor Polo," Pacco added in a
rush of Portuguese and Spanish. "Be-
fore I leave Lisboa many many months
ago I hear that the Senores Polo have
make a voyage to the Indies and that
they go a second time. Olay! You are
here. We meet."

Pacco turned to the curious Thais
soldiers and issued a series of sharp

commands; Before I knew it, my legs
were free of their chains and I was rid-
ing at the rear of the slave train on
Pacco's elephant while he related his
own adventures.

He had sailed from Lisboa in a gal-
leon specially fitted out to search for
the fabulous land of Cipangu* and the
Spice Islands, the renown of which had
spread throughout Europe after the re-
turn of the first Polo Brothers' expedi-
tion.

Months of sailing into the unknown
world brought him to Sumatra and the
coast of the Thaisland.

"And at the Thaisland," said Pacco.
"My ship go down. The people are
friendly and I am a soldier also, so I
am a lieutenant in the Thais army."

I knew it would be impossible to
make him understand that I came from
America, an undiscovered country as
yet. Or to convince him that I was a
citizen of the twentieth century.

It was easier to be Marco Polo the
Venetian, although it would be still
three years — 1281 — before the Polo
family embarked upon their second
journey to the Orient.

However, I told Pacco of my ad-
ventures in Angkor, the treasure and
the Hidden City.

"We go there," said Pacco imme-
diately. "We find your brother. We
find the treasure. We will make our
way to Cipangu, thence to Pekin, then
through the dark world which stands
between us and Lisboa."

As if to punctuate his decision, Pacco
guided his elephant around and sent it
off at a rapid gait in the direction of the
Hidden City jungles.

^GAIN we penetrated the jungle un-
dergrowth and after unbelievable
difficulties, came to the north and south
ravine. We began searching for the

*Cipangu— Japan.— Ed.

AMAZING STORIES

fromanger tree and the hole that Rip
had dropped through, when suddenly
... a red wall shimmered through the
dank green jungle.

"Sacra!" gasped Pacco. "A secret
city!"

I stared breathlessly at the forebod-
ing towers vaulting above the jungles.
Pacco ran headlong through the brush,
dragging me by the arm like an ex-
cited child. We came to a clearing that
ended abruptly at the edge of a scum
covered moat which surrounded the
Hidden City. It was filled with drifting
logs.

On the other side, the jungle citadel
rose, silent and grim.

"My God! What a swimming pool,"
I groaned, seeing the width of the moat.

"It has no depth," Pacco cut in con-
fidentially. He waded into the slimy
water.

One of the logs in the moat moved — ■
crocodiles! I lunged after Pacco.
clutching his collar and dragging him

"Lord sakes!" I shivered. "That's
what you call a real Siegfried Line . . .
Come, we'll follow the moat until we
find a causeway into the city."

Approaching the southwest corner of
the city, we came face to face with a
great carved gate. Still there was no
causeway across the moat. The gate
opened into the crocodile infested
waters*

"We must build a raft to get over
that," Pacco decided.

"All right, let's do it quickly," I
agreed. We began gathering bamboo
poles, dumping them at the moat's
edge. I marveled at Pacco's big shoul-

*The Hidden City, actually 40 miles southeast
of Angkor, has been reached by only two modern
explorers — R. Casey and G. Groslier. Neither of
the men were able to enter the city because of
the inaccessible moats. And today, the war in
Europe cut short the expedition the French Gov-
ernment was sending to the Hidden City. — Ed.

ders and arms, the way he ripped vines
from the trees like strings of twine.

In the next few minutes I was so
busy I almost failed to notice that
Pacco had wandered away. Finding
myself alone, I became panic stricken.

"Pacco!" I cried anxiously. I ran in
the direction in which I had last seen
him.

Then I found him — so excited he
couldn't talk. He pointed excitedly be-
yond a pile of fallen lianas to the cor-
ner of a small carved arch. There were
steps beneath it . . . steps descending
into the dark earth.

"Perhaps they are where your
brother go?" Pacco finally spoke.

"No. These aren't the ones."

Nevertheless, I dragged the lianas
away and hurried into the gloomy,
slanting tunnel. The steps descended
sharply for about forty feet, then flat-
tened out into a stone-lined passage.
I switched my flashlight on.

"Porco Dios!" gasped Pacco. His
eyes bulged at the sight of the artificial
light.

"Come along," I urged him.

The passage was long and cool. Weird
shadows leaped and vanished across
the walls before the rays of my torch.
Soon the stone walls gave way to crys-
tals that rose from the floor and fes-
tooned the ceilings with odd shaped
spear points.

A short distance farther and we came
to an abrupt stop — a solid stone door.
Pacco pushed it experimentally, then
leaned his powerful shoulder against it.
The massive door swung back sound-
lessly.

Beyond it I saw a broader passage,
the walls of which were lined with thou-
sands of crystals that gave off a dim,
internal light.

"This is very bad," growled Pacco.
"It is not good at all."

I glanced at the Portuguese curiously.

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

"What's bad?" I asked.
"The door — it has closed I"
I whirled on my heels like a top,
not quite understanding Pacco, but
sensing something wrong. Suddenly my
blood chilled. The stone gate had closed
by itselj. We were trapped!

CHAPTER Vlll
Seven Heads of Naga

"r~vEVILS!" rasped Pacco as he flung
his sturdy body futilely against
the massive door. "I see it close all by
itself. Why? Devils!"

"It's no use, Pacco," I said, "That
door was designed to trap us."

"But I break it."

While Pacco expended his violent
Latin energy against the door, I looked
toward the other end of the glowing
passage where it bent slightly to the
right. Checked the direction with my
compass.

"Pacco! Listen!" I said. "We're
under the moat now, or I miss my
guess. There must be another exit
to this tunnel ... an exit into the Hid-
den City itself."

"Or maybe we die here," Pacco an-
swered laconically.

We moved forward cautiously, car-
rying our swords unsheathed. A hun-
dred yards further on the passage
turned sharply left and debouched into
a broad chamber where the strange
radiations from the crystals diffused a
deep purple light.

"For Lord sakes, Gregg!"

I almost dropped in my tracks at the
sound of Rip Corry's voice.

Rip raced toward me, throwing his
arms about my shoulders as if I were
his long lost brother.

"Boy, you deserve a kiss for show-
ing up," he grinned and smacked me
on the cheek. Then he stopped and

stared at Pacco. "Who the hell is he?

Siva himself?"

Although Pacco didn't understand
English he was quick to catch on. It
looked as if he and Rip were cut out
to be pals, especially when Pacco drew
himself up proudly, saying:

"Pacco Gonzales de la Mura y Braga,
Lieutenant."

"Sailor," I added with a smile. "And
by the way, Rip, I'm Marco Polo.
You're one of the other Polos, if you
don't mind."

"Marco Polo?" Rip gave me a funny
look. Finally, when I had retold my
adventures with Pacco, Rip grinned.

"That's just spring training. Wait
until you hear what I've got on the
ball."

His sparkling eyes shot across the
dim chamber toward a huddled group
of bodies I hadn't noticed before.
Mummies!

"What's this? A graveyard?" I
stuttered.

"That's what I thought when I fell
down this hole and the trap door shut
me in," Rip snorted. "But they're
alive!"

O IP turned toward the group of
emaciated, parched-skinned,
brown men and women and called an
old man to our side.

Rip glanced at Pacco.

"Gregg, you translate for him," he
said. "The old man here is Kanbu.
He was a slave and he knows the pas-
sage into the Hidden City."

"So, what are we waiting for?" I cut
in. "Let's get going."

"Wait," snapped Rip impatiently.
"Do you think I'd be sitting here if I
could have gotten into the city? Lordl
I've been going nuts down here, know-
ing that rat Yaya Varman was loose
up there with Mera."

"Well?"

AMAZING STORIES

"See these mummy-men," Rip con-
tinued. "They're slaves. They were
custodians of the Hidden City until
they weren't needed. They tell me
that the Hidden City is big enough to
hold a million people, still it's deserted.
Only Yaya Varman and a dozen guards
hold the place. It was sort of an ace
in the hole for the Khymer royal fam-
ily just in case there was a popular
uprising."

"Makes it all the easier for us," I
said.

"So you think," grunted Rip. "We're
sewed up here tight as a drum. You
haven't met Naga!"

At the mention of the name the old
slave, Kanbu shivered.

"Who the deuce is that?" I asked.

Rip laughed without humor. "Naga,"
he said slowly, "is the seven headed
cobra guarding the only passage into
the city. It's as big as a python. I've
seen it."

"Okay, Rip," I said softly. "You've
been down here a long time. Maybe
there are snakes, but . . ."

"Nuts!" Rip exploded in exaspera-
tion. "You think I'm out of my head! "

"Take it easy, Rip."

"AH right, take it easy yourself if
you can," he snorted.

Suddenly he was dragging me by the
arm toward the passage I had seen
Kanbu watch so warily. As we ap-
proached, a tense hissing sound as-
sailed my ears. Then I saw Naga —
an incredibly large serpent with a scaly
body as thick as a tree trunk.

From its enormous, fan-shaped head
fourteen livid orange eyes glared at
me. The mesmeric gaze seemed to
drag my eyes from their sockets. I
grew dizzy and nauseated until Rip
yanked me back into the cavern proper.

"You aren't the only one," said Rip.
"That freak monster had me whirling
the first day. But we're getting along

kind of friendly now. I look at Naga
and Naga looks at me — a sort of mu-
tual fascination."

"You stare at the thing," I shuddered
involuntarily.

"Sure," Rip grinned. "But it's not
helping anyone. While the slaves down
here sleep, Naga slithers in and picks
out a human morsel. That's why the
slaves are kept here."

Corry went on: "Kanbu and the
slaves think I'm going to set them free.
They've cooked up a yarn that I'm
destined to have a conference with
the snake and talk him into letting us
go."

"Huh!" I smiled grimly. "That's
one yarn that won't be backed by fact.
You're no diplomat."

"I can hiss," Rip added drily. "But
it won't make sense outside of a ball
park."

Pacco Interrupted. "I think maybe
we stay here," he said glumly. "The
serpent is too big to battle, and too
swift."

"We'd better stand guard," I in-
sisted.

HPHERE wasn't much else we could
do. When the others went to sleep
I took a turn at standing guard, tired
as I was. Somehow, during those tedi-
ous hours, I must have fallen asleep be-
cause a while later I was awakened by
a godawful, weird music coming from
Naga's passage.

How long had I slept, I wondered?
Then a wild, unaccountable fear seized
me. Naga! Rip! Leaping to my
feet, I reached for Pacco and Kanbu,
shaking them violently.

"Rip is gone!" I cried. "Gone, do
you hear me! "

Old Kanbu shook his head with an
air of resignation.

"Naga take him."

Pacco came to his feet like a jack-

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

in-the-box and raced toward the cobra
passage. I grabbed Kanbu and dragged
him along despite his protests. We
were right behind Pacco when we came
face to face with the hideous, seven-
headed serpent. I shuddered like an
aspen leaf, seeing the great snake sway
back and forth, hypnotized by the
strange piercing music that had awak-
ened me.

Then my nerves crumbled . . .

Rip was sitting there on his haunches,
like an East Indian snake charmer,
madly playing the Ride of the Valkyrie
on his piccolo. He was barely two
feet from the swaying giant cobra.

He played wildly as we crept to-
ward him, then signaled frantically for-
us to pass the snake.

My nerves strummed like steel wires
when we crawled along, hugging the
wall of the passage until we were be-
hind the scaly monster. I held my
breath for Rip as he began edging
around.

"God!" I prayed fervently. "Don't
break the spell 1"

Rip shifted an inch at a time crouch-
ing, moving and playing for all he was
worth.

CHAPTER IX

"You Be King"

ran up the dim passage, still
hearing the wild hissing of the
serpent in the corridor behind us. Every
few yards Rip blasted a couple of bars
on the piccolo just to play safe. We
reached a triple fork in the passage.

"This way," Kanbu cried breath-
lessly. "This will bring us into the
palace."

"Quidao! Take care!" Pacco sig-
naled.

We mounted a steep flight of stairs
and came to a translucent crystal door

which Rip pushed aside. We were in
the palace I Suddenly Rip motioned
us back frantically.

Two guards stood at a second stair-
way.

Kanbu and I shrank into the shad-
ows for unendurable seconds while
Rip and Pacco crawled forward . . .
The guards never knew what hit
them . . .

Pacco's longsword halved one guard
even as he turned with bewildered
surprise upon his face. A hot spurt
of blood choked any cry that might
have surged in the man's throat.

Meanwhile Rip's iron fingers jerked
the second warrior clean off his feet.
Tense thumbs stiffled a scream of ter-
ror. The man's tongue hung out
idiotically.

Pacco and I seized the spears, adding
them to our collection of armament.
Then we followed Rip upward, into
the very center of the palace. He ran
ahead with unerring certainty, as if
some mental bond were leading him di-
rectly to Mera.

Up to the last corridor we met no
opposition until Rip suddenly halted.
Before him an apartment door quietly
opened . . .

My fingers tightened over the hilt
of my sword as I squeezed against the
wall. At the other side of the door-
way Pacco levelled his spear, waiting.
We watched Rip for a signal to attack.

The signal never came. Instead, Rip
dropped his sword and leaped forward
with a happy grin spreading from one
ear to the other. Then I saw Princess
Mera in the doorway.

She stood there, timid and beautiful
as ever. The cry of fright upon her
lips melted into a thankful sob. She
threw herself into Rip's arms and the
two of them were oblivious of all the
world.

"Mera, child," I finally cut in.

AMAZING STORIES

"Where is the king? How many men
has he got in the palace?"

Mera looked up, choking back her
tears.

"At the temple — " She answered
haltingly.

"And the treasures of Angkor?"

"Don't bother her," Rip interrupted.
"Give her a chance to buck up."

"It's at the temple also," Mera said.
"The jewel caskets are there on the
third altar of Siva."

"Hmm. Everything in one place," I
smiled. "Come on, Pacco. Rip."

'-pHE HIDDEN CITY, with its
imposing shrines and glittering
buildings, was like a ghost city as we
crossed it. The hot Cambodian sun
beat down upon deserted streets where
the sole inhabitants — lizards and centi-
pedes — scurried beneath stones at our
approach.

"Here is the temple," Mera pointed,
anxiously. "Yaya Varman is here with
a few soldiers."

We had come this far without
trouble. Now the temple hovered be-
fore us, shimmering in the heat like an
unreal thing.

Abruptly, Pacco grabbed my arm.

"Mir a! Look!" he hissed, pointing
with his sword.

Yaya Varman and a band of Khy-
mer guards marched from the shad-
owy alcoves of the temple. The king
hesitated an instant, seeing us. His
turtle-like face turned pale.

"The rat!" yelled Rip.

Then, with a cry of battle upon their
lips, the King's men rushed us with
drawn swords. We braced ourselves
for the first onslaught. It was four
against one when the air rang with the
clash of metal upon metal.

"Up the terrace," snapped Rip.

Step by step we retreated, fighting
bitterly, trading slash for slash, lunge

for lunge. Pacco was an army in him-
self. His broadsword nicked one guard
on the shoulder. Again the blade
whirled, sweeping a horizontal arc,
clanging against Khymer armor, halv-
ing a man, trunk from legs like a cut
log.

"Magnifico!" he shouted lustily. He
withdrew his broken sword, tossing the
handle into another Rhymer's face
along with a string of violent Latin
epitaphs. Then he seized a lance.

"Bravo!" Rip tossed at him. "Done
like the very last of the Mohicans."

Tacco grinned back.

"To hell with that," I shouted. "This
is the last stop — there are no more ter-
races."

Kanbu fell across the steps before
me, pinned through the back with a
lance.

Meanwhile King Yaya danced about
behind his soldiers, jabbering at us in
the kind of Khymer rhetoric that never
appeared in the Sanskrit carvings on
the Angkorean temples.

The steps of the last terrace ran
slippery with blood. We had trouble
keeping afoot. I saw Rip fall back a
few paces. He parried angrily with
one warrior, then slashed desperately
at another who leaped to the steps above
him.

Mera screamed shrilly — Rip had
fallen!

Yaya Varman shouted triumphantly.
His face burned with venemous hate
as he leaped toward Rip.

"You die, White One!" he cried,
shooting his spear at Rip's unguarded
throat.

I felt a sharp blow on my shoulder
as a body lunged past me, falling in
the path of the king's spear.

"Pacco!" I yelled.

It was too late. I saw the brave
Portuguese roll on the steps, clutching
at the spear that pierced his chest. He

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

had saved Rip at the cost of his own
life.

YX/'ITH a vengeful growl in his
throat, Rip raised himself and
rushed at the king. Yaya Varman
found himself squirming in midair. The
Rhymer soldiers dropped back in
amazement at the sight of their king
held aloft like a shivering bag of meal.

Rip staggered toward the terrace
edge, the muscles bulging in his arms.

"Chalk this one up for Pacco," he
shouted grimly and hurled the king
from the heights of the temple to the
next terrace forty feet below. There
was an unearthly shriek quickly fol-
lowed by a sickly thud, then a bloody
groan.

Abruptly, the Rhymer guards lost
interest in the battle. One by one they
lowered their arms while one of their
number bowed before Rip.

"Our king is dead," the Rhymer said,
unemotionally. "The law demands a
king who will replace him. We must
have a strong king to fight against the
Thais invaders, to rally our defeated
people. You must be our king."

Rip's face was flushed. He grinned
at the soldier, then threw me an odd,
helpless look.

"What'll I do, Gregg? I ain't cut
out to be a king. I'm a baseball player."

"You be king," I said. "See what
Mera thinks."

We both looked toward the girl and
found her staring wide-eyed — not at
us — but toward the jungles. Suddenly
she turned to Rip with a cry of terror
upon her lips.

CHAPTER X
The Ring of Firs

CTRANGE sounds, mingled cries of
agony and despair swelled out of

the jungle just beyond the great moat.

I stared down from the temple
heights, seeing a disheveled Thais
soldier stumble across the clearing to
the moat's edge. He hesitated, glanced
despairingly toward the Hidden City,
then hurled himself into the moat.

I felt sick to my stomach, for a mo-
ment later a great wave of men and
women, Thais and Rhymers alike, ran
into the glaring sunlight and leaped
blindly into the crocodile filled waters.

"They're mad!" Rip gasped, not
knowing what to make of it.

The water below us churned with the
hideous whirling of crocodiles tearing
human flesh. Splotches of crimson
spread through the water as wave after
wave of hysterical people swept past
the Hidden City.

Presently there was a lull and fewer
people running. A wave of anxiety
gripped me when I saw that our own
Rhymer soldiers had deserted. In a
moment I forgot them when Rip pointed
at the jungle again.

A woman was staggering toward the
moat. Her body was covered with
great, ugly white ants which she fran-
tically fought off until I saw her stum-
ble and fall. Then a greater tide of ants
crawled from the jungle and swarmed
over her. A moment later the ants
moved on. I found myself staring at
a skeleton.

The jungle was carpeted with the
things — a tidal wave. Fromanger and
palm trees became masses of vibrating,
pulsating life. The ants swarmed out
of the northwest, coming endlessly.

"Gregg, they're over the moat!
They're in the city!"

Rip swept Mera into his arms and
started running down the terrace.

"Hold it," I called. "We can't get
out now. Use your head. We've got
to kill them."

Rip stopped long enough to toss me

AMAZING STORIES

a look of sarcasm.

"Nuts!" he cried. "Kill them?
What do you think I am? An insecti-
cide?"

"Fire!" I shouted. "There are some
pitch pots below. Build a wall of fire
around the temple."

There was no time to waste. We
worked like madmen until we had our-
selves hemmed in on the third terrace
by a solid ring of fire. The ants were
already feeling their way along the rim
of flame.

"If that won't hold them, nothing
will," Rip muttered in a breathless,
worried voice. "The damn things must
be eating up the whole land."

A LINE of ants streamed over the
final stage of the terrace. They
were horrible looking things. Each
half of their segmented bodies was the
size of a football and shone like glossy
armor. Their legs made a chilling
metallic sound as they crossed the
stones of the terrace.

Rip ran forward with a torch and an
urn filled with pitch. Suddenly he threw
the urn aside angrily and backed away.

"No pitch left," he cried. "It's no
use — another few minutes."

The strain was too great for Mera.
It was no wonder she was weeping in
Rip's arms.

"It's all right," Rip spoke softly.
"It's all right, kid."

The girl stared at the two of us, then
at the great ants as they fought the
fire and moved relentlessly across the
terrace toward us. She watched them
with horrified fascination and didn't
see Rip draw his knife.

"Mera — " Rip began.

He pressed his lips to the girl's while
his hand lifted the knife to her breast.
I couldn't watch. I turned my head
away.

Presently an unexplainable shadow

crossed the stones of the terrace. A
shadow! It returned swiftly, this time
larger. Then I shook my head dizzily
and began stuttering hysterically at
Rip.

"I-i-i-it's — " I couldn't form the
word. Instead, I pointed crazily at the
big metal Time-Torpedo settling on the
terrace just on the other side of the
altar.

The stutter of a machine gun blasted
the air. The ants fell back.

That was too much for me. My
knees sagged and I sank wearily upon
one of the caskets containing the Ang-
kor treasures. It seemed utterly fan-
tastic when from the door of the
Torpedo a sweating, pudgy face poked
out.

"Rapid! This is not the time to
play at the games," called the voice.

* * *

"THAT," SAID Gregg Lee as he
leaned back against the cushions in
Time-Torpedo "Two," "was when you
and Duval came along just in the nick
of time. A few minutes later, and the
ants would have finished us off as they
dirj the Khymer race. You saw the size
of them."

"That was no joke," nodded Jackson
from where he stood at the controls.
"It took us six months to copy your
Time Machine design. Another day
and — pooft. Where would you be?"

"Six months," cried Gregg Lee.
"You mean to say six months have
passed since you found my manu-
script?"

"He is right," Duval cut in cheerily.

"Incredible," answered Gregg Lee.
"We buried the manuscript less than a
fortnight ago!"

"That's right," Rip Corry added.

Archeologist Jackson rubbed his
gaunt chin with a thin hand. His brow
furrowed quizzically.

"I just thought," he began cautiously.

LOST TREASURE OF ANGKOR

"No! That's impossible too ... I
was thinking that perhaps you and
Rip Corry died. Perhaps centuries did
pass. Then Duval and I came back
and butted into a finished picture. That
would be like blotting out a scene in
a painting and putting in a new scene
without ruining the composition. Per-
haps that will explain the six months?
Perhaps Time was squeezed some-
where?"

Gregg Lee shrugged tiredly.

"Well. I'd rather talk about the treas-
ure," he sighed. "What's going to hap-
pen to it when we go down and get it
aboard the Torpedo — after the ants
are gone? I suppose with Duval here,
the French Government will put in a
claim?"

Duval smiled.

"The treasure," he said. "She not
rightfully belong to France."

"What do you mean?" Gregg Lee
asked.

"But of course," Duval went on
wisely, nodding at Mera, "the treas-
ure belongs to the Rhymers ... the
pretty mademoiselle is a Khymer. Yes?
The last one. Yes?"

"I don't think she's very interested,
though," smiled Lee. "I think she has
something more pleasant on her mind."

Both Rip Corry and Mera glanced
at Lee and the Frenchman. A Ches-
hire grin spread over Rip's face. He
leaned down and gave Mera a long kiss.

"Yes," he acknowledged. "I think
she has! "

YOU OUGHT TO BE DEAD!

No, readers, no* you! That's just the title to a peach of a new spec* yam by

ROBERT MOORE WILLIAMS

Coming to you in the August Issue of Amazing Stories.

VISIOD in a
CRYSTAL!

THERE she was, lithe, lovely — entranc-
ingly beautiful — dancing in the forest In
this incredible world In a Jewell And to
Lee Blaine, when he found her on this strange
second Moon of Earth, she became all that
meant anything to him. But infinity lay be-
tween their worlds, an Infinity that he must
cross. Then one day he found the way, and
entered a weird world ol adventure and
danger, and fought for the lore of Aurita,
the Druid Girl. Don't miss this brand new
masterpiece by Ray Cummlngs in the

BIG JUNE ISSUE

Irics and brownies.
THE HAN WHO BOUGHT ?L' n K| Y I ,

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THE GIRL

FROM VENUS

OME and get it, you tinhorns!

inside Kerrigan's American Bar was ac-
companied by the sounds of a wild
struggle. So wild, in fact, that, four
Martian policemen stayed quietly out-
side and peered in through the windows,
content to wait until the storm had
passed. Meanwhile they winced as
chairs shattered and glass broke, and
the howls and yells and shrieks and
groans kept pace with the breakage.
It was a very impressive brawl.

Bod Merrill, the challenger, was in
there somewhere, buried under a mass
of indistinguishable citizens who hailed
from every quarter of the universe, who
had no use for each other but had united
to exterminate Merrill. Now Merrill's
head showed as he punched his way to
the surface.

''Don't you worry, Lilla! I'll get rid
of these — ugh"- — someone kicked him

I can lick any ten . . ."
The shouted invitation from

AMAZING STORIES

and went down with a broken nose —
"pesky fools and then you and me" —
a momentary pause as he ducked a chair
leg and swung a vicious left— "can go
waltz at the Tonda Towers."

Merrill had fought his way erect
again, and the floor of Kerrigan's Amer-
ican Bar was strewn with various Venu-
sians, Mercurians, one bearded Jovian,
and a trio of green-faced Saturnians.
Now Merrill was charging forward into
the last half dozen survivors of the argu-
ment, his fists pumping at short range
like pistons.

Several minutes later he stood alone
Dn the floor and grinned as he turned
to a blue-eyed girl who sat on the bar,
swinging her legs and smoothing her
costume of red and yellow Martian silk.

"I did it all for you, Lilla," Bod Mer-
rill breathed. "You're too good to be
working in a joint like this. I got my
taxi outside. Let's go take in those
waltzes I was talking about when these
mugs interrupted."

The girl surveyed Merrill silently
until he was closer. When he was close
enough, she picked a bottle off the bar
and hit Merrill a solid pop right on the
top of his head. Down went Bod Mer-
rill.

"Listen, you ape," Lilla snapped, "it
just so happens that I like it here, see?"
Just then the four Martian policemen
edged timidly through the door. "Here,"
the girl pointed to the dazed Merrill,
"lock this loony Lothario in the clink
for the night. He's got romance on the
brain." At the far corner of the room,
the band had slunk back to its place and
now it suddenly let go a blast of red hot
jazz. "The drinks are on the house!"
Lilla shouted through cupped hands.
"Step up, gents, and name your poi-
son! "

* * * *
"GEE, TED, I can't thank you enough
for getting me out of here," Bod Mer-

rill murmured. "I'd lose my job if I
was locked up all night while I'm sup-
posed to be out with the taxi."

"Don't talk to me," Ted answered
wearily. "I don't want to have any-
thing to do with you. I got you out of
here because it's a habit with me, but
I'm mighty sick of the habit by now."

The little moon-faced Martian
looked up from the ledger. "The fine's
two hundred totten,"* he smiled. Ted
grunted and counted the money from a
roll in his hand. "Thank you," said the
turnkey. "Nice to have seen you again."

When they were outside the jailhouse,
Merrill said, humbly, "I didn't know
she was Kerrigan's wife, Ted. She's
new around here. I guess I'm just too
romantic, like she said." Ted kept
walking without saying a word. "It's
like I was meant to be a bachelor by
fate," Bod Merrill sighed, "and I never
met a feller with less natural instincts
for that kind of life than me." He
started abruptly as his friend turned
and walked away. "Hey, Ted, the taxi's
here!" he called. "Hop in and I'll fly
you home."

"No thanks, I'll walk," Ted answered
dryly.

"But it's past midnight and — " Mer-
rill started to say, but Ted was around
the corner. Bod Merrill sighed again
and looked into the magic of a Martian
night sky. The stars were like huge
jewels, the night was warm, and a soft
breeze played with his hair. "Past mid-
night, and what a night," he said aloud.
"What a night for romance . . ."

A few minutes later, seated in his
single-winged taxiflier, Bod Merrill
hovered over the night-bound city of
Tonda, capital of Mars. He stayed only
a thousand feet up, ready to swoop
down for a call the instant a purple
taxi-light showed. Gradually he be-
came lost in his thoughts, and when he

* About $50.00 in American money. — Ed.

THE GIRL FROM VENUS

looked down again, he was over the
Tonda Towers. He listened intently
and his face assumed a wistful expres-
sion.

"Ah," he groaned, "a waltz. And me
up here, pushing a taxi around."

The more he thought about it, the less
equitable he decided the fates were, and
while he was deciding, the small taxi-
flier descended as if by its own volition
and landed on the parking area of the
Tonda Towers. Well back in the area,
to be sure, for taxis were forbidden at
the exclusive Towers." Just the same,
from where he was, Merrill could hear
the melodious strains of the waltz very
well. He closed his eyes and settled
back in his seat, and smiled sadly.

Suddenly he sat up. There had been
a noise, and a muffled cry like a
woman's voice. Bod Merrill sat quietly
until he heard it again, farther away
this time. He clambered out of the taxi
and climbed up on the copter wings
and looked around.

"Holy H smoke and fire!" he ex-
claimed. "What kind of a game is
that?"

There was a woman in the parking
area, running and ducking among the
parked fliers, her long gown trailing
after her. From several different van-
tage points, three men were closing in
on her, calling to each other as the girl
fled from hiding place to hiding place.
Once one of the men almost had her,
and Merrill could hear her gasp, but it
wasn't until another did catch her that
Merrill moved. That was because she
cried out with fear in her voice, and
the man clamped a hand down on her
mouth. It didn't look like a game any-
more.

'C'VEN as Merrill jumped down from
the wing, the girl tore loose again.
Merrill ran to where he had last seen her
and bumped into one of the men. In

the dim glare of the parking lights he
could see the man's evening clothes and
the savage gleam in his eyes.

"What the hell — " the man growled
as Merrill bumped into him, and that
was all he said. His head snapped back
from Merrill's fist and he went down in
a silent heap. Close by the girl's voice
sounded again, and Merrill bounded
toward the sound. He came up behind
her and caught her in his arms as she
backed into him. She cried out again
and Merrill spun her around so she
could see him.

"Don't be frightened, Miss," Merrill
said hurriedly, and stopped. He wasn't
sure whether he was looking at a girl or
a dream. Maybe he was still in the taxi
and this was all the result of the waltz
music. Because, even in the gloom, this
girl was so unbelievably beautiful that
Bod Merrill froze on the spot. "I'm go-
ing . . ." he gulped, "to . . . help
you."

"Please!" the girl cried. He could
feel her shivering. He grabbed her arm
and began leading her back to where he
had parked his taxi. Halfway there the
two men sprang out from behind a flier.

Merrill pushed the girl violently away
and let go with both hands. He swung
his body to the left, then the right, his
arms almost crossing in mid-air, so swift
and certain was his movement. One of
the men collapsed against a parked cop-
ter. The other clutched his midsection
and sank slowly to the ground. Merrill
and the girl were running again. When
they got to the taxi, Merrill lifted her
in without bothering to open the door.
Just as he was about to jump in beside
her, Merrill saw one of the three men
coming along again.

"Excuse me," Bod said, stepping
down. "I've some unfinished business,
I see."

"Don't! " The girl clutched his arm,
her lovely face distorted with fear.

AMAZING STORIES

"They'll kill youl"

Merrill shot a glance over his shoul-
der. A small Crane gun* had appeared
in the man's hand, and it was too late to
hesitate. He wrenched himself free of
the girl and arched his body back, kick-
ing out on a long leg. The pistol exploded
with a blinding flash of brilliant green
light as it sailed from the man's hand.
Then Merrill quickly jumped into the
taxi and the twin propellers hummed;
the accelerator came into action and the
ship lurched into the sky.

From the parking area, two slender
green streams stabbed at the taxi, and
Merrill hit the wheel and rocked the
ship in crazy loops as it kept rising.
When he was out of range, he started
for the center of town and took a long
breath.

"Kill me, lady?" he said, bewildered.
"Those eggs were out for slaughter.
We'd better get a flock of cops as soon
as we can."

"No I" the girl whispered fiercely.
"Please, you don't understand. Not the
police. If you want to help me, then do,
but don't let the police know anything
about this. I beg you."

Bod Merrill looked at the girl. She
was obviously a Venusian. Her skin
was as pale as a lily, and her hair was
raven black. She held his arm as she
spoke to him, her full red lips quivering,
her dark eyes clouded.

"Lady," Merrill said, dully, "you
don't have to beg me. You just tell me.
I'm a free man with an ache in him to be

* The Crane gun is an atomic pistol which fires
a small pellet of magnesium, activated by U-239.
The pellet, upon exposure to the air, releases its
energy as a burst of intense heat, burning with an
instant and fierce combustion. These pellets have
been known to melt through two inches of chrome
steel in one second of energy-release. They are a
savage, though effective, weapon, and are out-
lawed by the Interplanetary Peace Committee as
uncivilized. However, the law is not strictly en-
forced, since they are the favorite weapon of inter-
planetary big game hunters. — Ed.

a slave, and I guess I'm yours from now
on."

The girl's fingers tightened around
his arm and she lowered her eyes.

"Thank you," she said. "After to-
night I had almost lost all faith in
people. You can't understand what
you've — "

Suddenly, Merrill had dived the taxi-
flier as a ship veered in front of it, and
twin streams of green heat groped for
the little ship. Instantly, the larger
ship turned on its nose and followed the
dive.

"Hold tight!" Merrill said grimly.
"There's somebody with murder on his
mind right behind us."

HPHE little taxi dived in a straight
line, down, down until the lights on
the buildings seemed but a few feet
away. Then it straightened out with a
snap, in the nearest thing to a right
angle that Bod Merrill had ever made
in flight. Five hundred feet over the
ground, it scudded along with its throt-
tle open. When Merrill caught his
breath, and the ringing in his ears
stopped, he saw that the girl had fainted
from the pressure of the pull-out. And
the next instant, the other ship was
shooting at him again.

Bod Merrill swallowed hard. Cour-
ageous though he was, this was more of
a suicide pact. Whoever was follow-
ing them had no scruple against killing
in the middle of a city, and that brand
of homicide left an intended victim with
no way out . . . except the police.
Merrill touched the alarm switch that
would envelope his ship in red, as a sig-
nal to the police that a flier was in dis-
tress. But he looked at the unconscious
girl and remembered how she had said,
"I beg you," and instead his hand went
back to the wheel.

Far to the left there was a cloudbank
which was spotted once as the spaceport

THE SIRL FROM VENUS

beacon caught it in its sweep. Zigzag-
ging from side to side, the taxi veered
toward the cloud. Once he spun the
ship right across a badly aimed shot,
and there was a snap as the right wing
took a hot stripe right across the mid-
dle. He had lost the cloud in the dark,
and he had to duck all over the sky until
the beacon came around again and
touched an edge of it. It was moving
in the wind, and now it was down a bit,
but close by.

With a twist that hurled him against
the side of the ship, Merrill darted into
the cloud. His fingers moved like oiled
machinery, punching the instrument
board. He wanted to stop dead in the
middle of that cloud, but there was no
way to dissipate the forward motion
that the ship had gathered — no way but
one. The little ship began to spin bow
over stern in a tight loop, its motors
dead, climbing up and turning its belly
skyward until it rolled over and dived
down again, and then up again, over and
over . . .

When the ship took its last climb
slowly, he stopped it and switched on
the copter motors, and the taxi was
standing still in the middle of the cloud.
Not quite though, for Merrill gauged
the drift of the cottony bank in the wind
and let the ship move slowly forward
with it. Then he pressed his hands to
his pain-wracked temples and held them
there a moment. He knew what the ef-
fect of his maneuver had been: a ship
diving into a cloud at top speed and not
coming out. There was a stunt he had
learned once, before the I. P. patrol had
suspended him for a year, forcing him to
wait out the time as a taxi driver, and
all because . . .

But the girl was stirring. Her long
lashes fluttered and her frightened eyes
opened.

"Where are we?" she whispered.
Bod Merrill grinned.

"About two steps and a roll ahead of
the undertaker," he said. "This cloud
is a friend of a friend of mine."

"You got away?"

"So far." Merrill's face tightened.
"Look," he said, quietly, "I don't want
to appear as if I'm welching on a
promise, but unless I can get the police
to help us, something bad is going to de-
velop. I don't like the idea of dying
just when I've found something to live
for."

The girl was silent.

"All right," she said, her voice very
low. "I realize it isn't fair. My life
is over anyway. You might as well call
the police and settle it."

"Wait a minute," Merrill said, puz-
zled. "I don't like the sound of those
words. Why don't you trust me? Why
don't you tell me what this is all about?"

She lifted her head and looked di-
rectly into his eyes.

"I am Princess Nana of the reigning
Venusian house. The men following
me intended to kidnap me and hold me
for ransom." Her lips trembled as she
added, "Now I am at your mercy."

"I don't understand," Merrill said
slowly. "Why are you afraid to call the
police, in that case?"

"Because my father would hear of it,"
she said, holding back each word. "He
thought I was at school, but I had come
here to marry someone secretly."

The gloom on Bod Merrill's face
deepened as he asked, "And?"

"Look out!" the girl screamed, point-
ing a finger ahead.

'"pHROUGH the vicious eddy of
clouds, the nose of a ship had come
poking through. Even as the girl
screamed, there were two lances of
green hitting the taxiflier, boring
through its metal.

With its driving motors off, the taxi
was a stationery target, but with a flip,

AMAZING STORIES

Merrill shut off the copter motors and
the ship plummeted downward and out
of the cloud. The minute he was clear,
he snapped on the driving motors and
the ship surged forward. Ahead now was
a long streamer of light — the beacon,
turning in a circle. Merrill got right be-
hind it, just out of its light, and began
turning with it.

"We're safe here for awhile," he mut-
tered. "That light beam acts as a shield
because of the contrasting dark all
around it. Yes," he muttered bitterly,
"we're safe here until I can get you to
your sweetheart!"

"But you don't understand!" the girl
cried softly. "The man I was going to
marry is in that ship that's following
us! I thought . . ." she was crying
now, and the tears rolled down her
cheeks, "... he . . . loved me."

"Holy H fire and brimstone! " Merrill
shouted. "That's wonderful. That's
absolutely wonderful!" And in his
excitement and exultation, he let the
taxi nose into the beam of light until
is metal wings gleamed like a moth in
a flame.

"Here we go again!" Merrill cried.
The other ship was right behind him.
For several minutes he dived slowly and
looped the ship, and the other was al-
ways behind, getting closer all the
time. Merrill's eyes narrowed.

"Nana," he said, "I want you to
know that I love you. I'm telling you
this because I'm going to try something
desperate. Those birds behind us are
nosing up for a sure kill this time. So I
want you to know that while I ain't
much of a guy, and I'm a busted I. P.
gendarme waiting for a suspension to
lift — if you'll have me, you being a real
Princess and all. . . ."

"Have you?" the girl said, her eyes
misting. "In the few minutes we've
known each other, hovering between
life and death, I've realized how much I

love you, though I don't even know
your name."

"It's Bod," said Merrill, whipping the
ship directly around in a tight circle.
"Short for Ichabod. My folks come
from New England. Do you still love
me?"

"Yes," Nana gasped, as the ship
darted straight ahead.

Merrill was heading directly for the
ship that had been following him —
speeding at it with the force of a bullet.
His eyes were tiny slits as he held the
wheel, and he could feel the girl's fingers
tearing into his arm. Straight toward
each other the two ships came. Only a
few hundred feet separated the hurtling
machines — and then the larger ship
dropped away !

Instantly, Merrill was on its tail, and
as the other ship turned to come at him
again, he headed nose-first for its bow
again. The larger ship ducked a second
time, and this time the Crane guns
licked out for the taxiflier. But in the
middle of its shooting, one of the guns
went dead, and now there was only one
of the deadly heat weapons left. Mer-
rill laughed shortly and spun again to
meet the other ship in the tightest pos-
sible arc, to cut down the time in which
he provided a target. For a third time,
as the two ships headed for each other,
the larger gave up, quickly this time. It
turned over and began to lose altitude.

'"yOU know what I'm thinking?"

1 Bod Merrill grinned. "That I'm
going to be a helluva bridgegroom, be-
cause I'm going to have to pay for this
ride, and that'll break me clean!"

The girl smiled up at him.

"Bod," she said, "are we free of
them?" There were still tears in her
eyes. Merrill nodded. "Then you
must take me to where I can find a ship
that will bring me to Osander."

"Osander? But that's halfway across

THE GIRL FROM VENUS

Mars!"

"Yes. There's a rocket leaving for
Venus in a few hours. I must be on it."

"But why?" Merrill groaned. "I
can't let you go like this."

"You must, dearest." When she
looked into Merrill's eyes, it almost
blinded him. "You know you must.
When I get home, I'll tell father. I'll
prepare him for the shock slowly." She
pressed her lips on his. "And then I'll
come back to you."

Bob Merrill shook his head.

"Don't kiss me like that again," he
murmured, "or I'll never let you out of
my sight." He looked at the ship's
gauges. "I can't take you there in this
bus," he said, "and there's only one that
I can possibly lay my hands on that
could do the trick in time."

"Then take me to it."

"It belongs to my friend Ted, but the
way he feels about me, I'd have to steal
it."

"Oh."

Merrill took her hand.

"Of course I'll steal it," he said. "I'd
steal my grandmother for you." He
grimaced. "You know," he said, "there
ought to be some way for you to be
able to make that rocket, and for me
to get one wish before you go."

"What wish, Bod?"

"I just want to waltz around the
floor at the Tonda Towers once with
you. Just close my eyes and have one
waltz."

Nana looked tenderly at him.

"Darling, how romantic you are."

"Don't say that," Merrill said, hur-
riedly. "That's always been the root of
all the evil things that happen to me."
He sighed. "Something I ought to tell
you. I was suspended from the I. P. be-
cause I was too romantic about a girl.
She turned out to be engaged to the
Colonel's son, and we had quite an — uh
— argument about it, with the re-

sult . . ." Bod Merrill's keen eyes had
caught sight of something far below
him. "Look!" he said. "That ship —
they've been following us for the past
few minutes!"

Things happened fast after that. The
instant Merrill saw the ship, he zoomed
up, and immediately, the other ship be-
came enveloped in brilliant red — the
distress call of a plane!

"What's he want to do that for?"
Merrill exclaimed. "He'll have the
cops down on both of us!"

Right in front of the taxiflier a nest
or amber rocket-lights exploded. It was
the warning signal of the Martian po-
lice! Unless the ship stopped at once
and coptered in mid-air, it would be fol-
lowed by thick rays of green heat from
police flier-guns!

"They must be nuts!" Merrill
shouted. "Why don't they get after
those maniacs in that hearse down
there?"

"Bod, dearest!" Nana said nothing
more. She seemed unable to speak.
Fear had laid its hand on her throat, and
the sight brought anger welling up from
within Bod Merrill.

"So those Martians zanys think
they're going to burn me down?" he
gritted. "Maybe they have another
think coming."

lV/TERRHX gazed out through the
cockpit glass as another burst of
warning rockets shot in front of him.
There were four police planes flying
along with him ; two above and two be-
low. And the ship which had pursued
Merrill was with them; it was still glow-
ing red, calling more and more police
planes to the scene.

"It's crazy!" Merrill swore. "No
man would risk his neck like that!
What are they up to?"

All at once the sky was filled with the
shriek of sirens. The police were warn-

AMAZING STORIES

ing all traffic out of the vicinity. They
were going to shoot him down !

Just as he prepared himself for the
first maneuver, checking his oil gauge,
Merrill saw that Nana was crying.

"Stop," she whispered. "Don't risk
your neck. I'm not worth it. I've lied
to you."

Involuntarily, Merrill let the plane
slowly ease off its speed.

"What?" he said, hoarsely. "You
mean this whole thing — "

"No! " the girl cried. "No, Bod, you
mustn't believe that. I do love you. I
love you more than I can ever tell you."
She was weeping so bitterly that she
couldn't speak.

The taxi had come to a halt now, and
the police planes and the large red-en-
veloped ship were on all sides, boxing it
in. A voice in a heavy Martian accent
called out.

"Follow us and do not try to escape.
You are placed under ar-rest!"

Merrill stuck his head out of the
cockpit and waved to them.

"Okay," he said, "I'll play." Then,
in despair, he swung the ship about and
fell into the cortege that hemmed him
in. He looked straight ahead.

"Bod," the girl cried softly. "You
don't understand. I couldn't tell you,
on my honor. I made up that story
about marrying secretly."

"Yes," Merrill said heavily, "I was
beginning to see that too. No kidnaper
ever called the police to help him. It
was a good story for awhile."

"I can't see you so bitter," Nana
said. There was resolution in her eyes
as she spoke. "The men who were
pursuing me are part of an outlaw army
on Venus — you've heard of them — the
Red Hand Society. If they succeed, my
father will lose his life, and my uncle,
his throne." Her voice gathered courage
as she went on. "I couldn't stand by
and leave my family helpless just be-

cause I was a girl. Someone was
needed to take an urgent message to
Osander, and I came incognito this af-
ternoon to Tonda by rocket. I hoped to
throw off anyone who might be shadow-
ing me by spending the night at the
Towers. But I had to get to Osander
within two days and leave immediately
for home, with the answer."

Bod Merrill looked on while she cried
again. When she gazed into his eyes,
he felt his will leaving him at the sight
of her beauty.

"Bod," she cried, "don't you see?
The wealthy Interplanetary corpora-
tions want to remove my family from
the throne because they've refused to
let them loot Venus of its ores, its God-
given heritage of woodlands and medi-
cine flowers. And someone had to
come here to beg for help!"

"That still doesn't explain the police,"
Merrill said.

"No," Nana said, slowly, "not unless
you know that Mars itself is on the
brink of civil war."

"What?" Merrill exclaimed, thunder-
struck.

"The Martian Council of Senators
has forbidden any more Martian sup-
port of the Red Hands, but the cor-
porations are defying it. If the Senate
tries to use force, there will be war on
Mars!"

"You mean you've got a message for
the Senate?"

"For Senator Ryll alone. But now,
even the police in Tonda are helping the
corporations and the Red Hands. The
message will never get through. In a
month, the rebels will strike in Venus, if
the corporations send their next ship-
ment of arms through!"

"But why didn't you tell me this be-
fore?" Bod Merrill cried. Nana had
fallen silently away into a corner of her
seat, the tears coursing down her lovely
cheeks. "You could have trusted me,"

THE GIRL FROM VENUS

he said. "Didn't you know that?"

Nana nodded her head.

"I was honor-bound to tell no one,
and I couldn't let you go on risking your
life for a lie."

lyTERRILL groaned.

"And now look what you've
done," he said in despair. He looked
out of the cockpit windows. They were
almost at the police field. Suddenly
Merrill's face brightened.

"Nana!" he said, tensely. "Maybe
it's all working out for the best ! I think
we may have a better chance now than
before." He looked at the girl, and the
spark of hope that flamed in her eyes
buoyed him up beyond words. "Listen,
I've got a plan," he said hurriedly. "If
I can manage to gain about three min-
utes on these cops, my friend Ted's
place isn't far from here. I'll drop you
there, put you in his ship — "

Merrill stopped in sudden alarm.

"Nana, can you pilot a flier?" he
asked. The girl nodded soberly.
"Good!" He paused, thinking, then
said, "I've got two ideas about what
comes next. One of these is a fine one,
and it means that we could probably
be able to waltz together tonight, in per-
fect safety . . ." Bob Merrill shook
his head savagely. "Don't pay any at-
tention to me. I'm just being a roman-
tic fool again." He went on, "No, we'll
use the other plan. You'll take the
plane and wait until I've led the police
off on another chase, and then you can
streak it for Osander. After that, the
fates can have it."

He looked out of the window again.
Below there was the huge, amber-lit
port where the police had taken him.
The taxi and its convoy stopped motors
down and began descending. Merrill
held up a warning hand to the girl and
plunged the oil indicator-disk all the
way down.

Just as the exhaust fumes and smoke
billowed out, Merrill hit the taxiflier
controls. The little ship shivered erra-
tically in mid-air, and it bumped
sharply against the police ships on
either side, then hit the ones above and
below. The police ships, their equili-
brium destroyed as they were moving
straight down, rolled over and fell away
out of control, and before they could
right themselves, the taxi had disap-
peared in a whirlwind of smoke, shoot-
ing right up through the center of its
own blinding trail I

The instant the ship was lost from
sight, it plummeted down again and
sped along as near to the ground as it
could. Behind it the sky had become
filled with flares and crossing streams
of green fire as the police raked the
sky. Bod Merrill let his breath out and
felt Nana's heart beating as she pressed
close to him.

"Maybe we'll get that three min-
utes," Merrill said, "but no more than
that. They'll put sound detectors on
me; probably took my motor vibra-
tions while we were going with them."

Nana bent over and kissed Merrill.
His eyes were still glazed when he
dropped the ship silently on the dark
lawn behind Ted O'Brien's estate.
Swifty, Merrill Helped the girl out of
the taxi and took her into the hanger.
A long, sleek ship in silver and crim-
son stood there, power and speed lying
on its surface like a pedigree.

Bod Merrill took a last look at Nana
as she entered the ship. He opened the
bow motor covers and stuck his head in.
After a moment or two, he closed the
motor again and went to Nana. She had
lit up the dashboard and was checking
on the instruments, and now she said,
hurriedly:

"There's no time darling."

"Till we meet again," Merrill said.
He opened the doors and the ship's mo-

AMAZING STORIES

tors hummed. Suddenly the ship began
moving out. "No!" Merrill shouted.
"Nana! Wait until I've gone up ! " But
the motors were coughing from inactiv-
ity, and she didn't hear him. The ship
rolled out and stopped, then the copter
motors whirred and the plane lifted
with a sudden surge of power.

From the .great house of the estate
a thin figure was running.

"Hey! Is that your voice I hear, you
crazy Bod Merrill?" It was Ted
O'Brien, awakened in the middle of the
night. "Hey — Merrill! Who the hell
is that in my ship?" O'Brien shouted,
running faster.

"Sorry, Ted!" Merrill yelled, run-
ning for his taxi. He jumped in and
lifted the ship a few feet off the ground.
"Be back in a jiffy!" he called down.
"Don't worry about anything. Love is
a wonderful thing!"

And immediately the taxifiier shot
upward. When it had reached two thou-
sand feet, Merrill touched the alarm
switch off and on, and the taxi was
bathed alternately in a crimson glow.
Merrill grinned as he visualized the re-
actions of the police when they realized
who it was signalling them . . . and
then Merrill almost choked!

Because the motors on his ship were
stopping ! The instrument board
showed the warning clearly; there was
a two-minute emergency reserve of fuel
left, enough to land with and no more.

QUICKLY, Bod Merrill sized up the
situation. The most important
thing had been to let Nana get far
enough away before ... He decided
that it wouldn't matter, he could hold
them for five minutes more. But he
couldn't hold them in mid-air anymore,
and maybe that was again a good thing.
On the ground he might be able to use
a few new tricks. He had picked one
up in Kerrigan's American Bar.

The police arrived a moment after
the taxifier landed, and in droves they
began settling down after him. Merrill
bounded out of the useless flier and
almost into the arms of Ted O'Brien,
who was still standing in robe and pa-
jamas and cursing in a loud voice.

"Pardon me!" Merrill exclaimed,
jumping out of Ted's reach and dash-
ing for the hangar. The hangar would
be just right, he had decided; large
enough to duck in for awhile, and small
enough to discourage the police from
shooting too enthusiastically with their
heat pistols.

Once in the hangar, he climbed up to
the first short balcony and piled up a
pyramid of empty oil cans. Then he
got the heavy flushing hose ready for
action. Finally he opened two crates of
aerial flares and lined them up. He had
just about finished when the first of the
police came tearing into the hangar.
Bod Merrill grinned and his eyes nar-
rowed as he watched them.

Downstairs, on the floor of the han-
gar, they were turning everything up-
side down when Ted came running in.

"Stop it, you idiots! " he cried. "I tell
you the girl made off in my ship ! If it's
her you're — "

"You talk too much, Ted," Merrill
muttered to himself, and with a short
kick, he sent half of the piled up oil
cans tumbling down in a deafening,
hair-raising clatter. It had its effect:
the discussion ended immediately as the
police, shouting incoherently, made for
the ladder to the balcony!

But climbing that ladder in the dark
had its disadvantages, especially when
policemen were treading on each others'
hands all the way up. Still, it looked
like they were going to make it, but
Merrill then pushed the rest of the oil
cans over, and the outraged howls
drowned his laughter completely.

Below, officers were shouting wild

THE GIRL FROM VENUS

orders, and other ladders were being
pushed into place when Bod Merrill
calmly turned on the hose and let it
shoot full force down the length of the
ladder. The police flew off like ten-
pins, and the confusion became cata-
clysmic. Half a dozen portable sunners
lit up below, their beams of light raking
the balcony. Over and over, officers
kept bellowing for no one to shoot;
they evidently wanted the Princess
Nana alive, now that they thought they
had her.

Two of the beams converged on Mer-
rill just as he pulled the pins from two
of the flares and threw them down.
Another flare, and another, and the
hangar became a dazzling inferno of
colored light. The blue and yellow com-
bined to form a blinding, vibrating eye-
ache, and the red made the hell more
realistic. Flare after flare came hurtling
down, and as the police stood there, try-
ing to cover their eyes, their sunners
paled into insignificance, Bod Merrill,
standing in the balcony with his dark
goggles on, kept the powerful hose
spurting. He looked like a grim, bug-
eyed assistant demon among the sin-
ners as he stood with his legs apart and
blew the men down off their feet with
the thirty-foot stream. But it had to end,
and it did.

Someone got to the main water-con-
trol and the hose died. In utter silence,
the police withdrew until the last of the
flares had burned out. When they came
back, a score of sunners flashed on and
held Bod Merrill in their beams, and a
voice called:

"This time we shoot you unless you
come down!"

The party was definitely over. Mer-
rill knew that from the way the Martian
officer had spoken. Holding his hands
over his eyes, he nodded his head and
started down the ladder. But the beams
remained focused on the balcony, in

the evident expectation that Nana
would appear.

AX/HEN Bod Merrill got to the floor
of the hangar, three policemen
climbed up. "Cojfina ete!" they yelled
down. "She's not here!"

"Piog!" a Martian officer shouted
angrily. "Lras han — Look ! You
fools—"

"Nevertheless," Merrill interrupted,
"what they say is true. I am alone."
Nana, he knew, was safe by now. They
would never suspect . . .

Outside more sirens were sounding,
and the landing lights of two more po-
lice cars flashed. When the new arrivals
entered the lighted hangar, there were
two Earthmen among them.

"Merrill!" one of the Earthmen
shouted. "You?"

"Hello, Anderson," said Merrill,
slowly. "Yes, it's me. A little surprised
to find me here?"

"Listen, you!" Anderson spat out.
"Up to now you've been nothing but a
headache on wings, but this time you
stepped into something! So you
couldn't take it, and turned crooked,
huh?"

"Shut your face," said Merrill.
"What did they pay you to sell out?
When bigger crooks are made, the
X-Terra police'll make 'em."

A Martian officer stepped forward,
but Anderson said,

"I'll handle this. I'm a specialist on
the career of Lieutenant Ichabod Mer-
rill."

"Nobody," said Merrill, stepping for-
ward and landing a short hook to An-
derson's stomach, "but intimate friends
of mine call me Ichabod!" Anderson
doubled up and went to his knees.

"Take him away ! " Anderson shouted.
"Put the dame in my ship! "

"But I try to tell you," said the Mar-
tian officer, "the dame, she is not here ! "

AMAZING STORIES

Anderson's red face turned a shade
blue as he struggled to his feet.

"What?" he cried, "you mean you
let that crooked dame slip through your
fingers?"

Merrill jumped away from the police
who were holding him and put his fist
into Anderson's face with a sharp
smack.

"Not even intimate friends can call
my girl that," he observed as Anderson
went down again.

The police jumped on Merrill in
bunches then, and when he came up
from the floor, Anderson was still shak-
ing his head. Now Ted O'Brien came
forward, pushing aside the police.

"Wait a minute, you crazy fools!"
O'Brien cried. "Don't you see he
doesn't know what it's all about?"

"You stay out of this," said Merrill.

"Bod," O'Brien groaned, "don't you
know that the girl who took off in my
ship is being hunted by the police?"

"Sure." Merrill's jaw was square.

"You mean you knew who she was?"
Ted O'Brien said, incredulously.

"I said so, didn't I?" Merrill said.
"She's the Princess Nana, of the royal
Venusian house.

"Who?" O'Brien shrieked. "Who did
you say she was?"

Bod Merrill looked from O'Brien to
(Anderson, and to the other Earthman;
Martian expressions were too hard to
understand, but there was no mistaking
what lay on the faces of these three.

"Is everybody going deaf?" Merrill
said, slowly. "I said she was the Prin-
cess Nana."

"O-o-o-o-h-h-h," O'Brien groaned
weakly, holding on to the gasping An-
derson. "She told him she was a Prin-
cess!"

"Let me out of here," said Anderson,
shaking his head. "That weakness for
romance finally caught up with him.
Ten years in the radium mines might

cure him." He looked at Merrill. "Look,
Merrill, I'm willing to take those two
shots you delivered me as being ad-
dressed to the wrong party, if you'll
tell us where that finger went." He
jumped back hurriedly as Bod started
for him. "Look, Merrill," he said des-
perately, 1 'can't you understand she
ain't what you think she is?" He fum-
bled frantically in his pockets and
brought out a folded sheet of paper.
"Here, take a look at this!"

J^TERRILL snatched the paper and
opened it. Then his face went
white. The sheet was one of the regular
bulletins of the Interplanetary Patrol. At
the top it said : Wanted By — Earth and
Venusian Governments for complicity
in jewel-robberies and smuggling;
Senate of Mars for smuggling; Mer-
curian Council for complicity in hold-
ups and jewel robberies. Directly un-
derneath was a large photograph of a
beautiful woman who looked Venusian.
Under that: Black hair, very white
skin, dark eyes, full Cupid lips. Ac-
complished pickpocket and finger
woman for smugglers and jewel thieves.
Married four times to: Pockface Phil,
Kyll the Ripper, Lightfinger Ed Mc-
Cann, Bottlenose Benny . . .

It went on like that for a bit, but
Bod Merrill let the paper slip from his
fingers. He was talking out loud.

"I was eloping," he said, "but the
man I loved was going to kidnap me so
my father wouldn't hear of it so I'm
going back to school." A low moan
escaped from Merrill's lips. "No," he
went on fiercely, "there's civil war com-
ing to Mars, and I've a message for the
Senate."

Bod Merrill looked around and began
to laugh very loud.

"Well," said Anderson dryly, "his
mind's snapped at last. I knew he
couldn't keep falling in love every week

THE GIRL FROM VENUS

indefinitely. Now we'll never get a
sane word out of him, and the Lord only
knows where Gertie the Finger is. Bet-
ter check and see if the dragnet is
working."

"You see," said Merrill, laughing
again, "I'm just a girl, but I couldn't
let my uncle lose his throne." He
looked at Anderson and added, "Now
could I, Anderson?" and began roaring
again.

"See?" said Anderson to O'Brien.
"Now he thinks he's somebody's niece.
And you, waking up all hours of the
night to bail him out of the jug. If he
had his mind, he'd get ten years in the
radium mines." He shook his head
sadly. "Take him away, boys."

But when the police tried to move
Merrill, he only waved his hands at
them and laughed louder than ever.
Finally, coughing and wheezing, he
drew his breath and stopped. His face
was almost somber now.

"If you boys will follow me," he
said, dryly, "I'll put the finger on Ger-
tie the Finger."

"Merrill," said Anderson, his voice
unsteady. "You mean that?" He swal-
lowed hard. "You ain't crazy, are you,
Merrill?" Again he swallowed. "Be-
cause there's some twenty-five thousand
dollars in various planetary monies out
for that mama."

".Who's thinking about money?" said
Merrill. The first flush of insane hilar-
ity had passed. "I'm a man with a
broken heart," he said. Then he turned
and dragged the three police with him
to one of their police planes. When the
whole cortege was in place, he gave the
signal.

Fifteen miles away, following a north
by northeast course, Bod Merrill asked
the planes to fly just over the ground,
and some four or five minutes later,
they saw Ted O'Brien's plane in the
middle of a field. Half a minute later,

all the police planes had landed.

'XX/'HEN they dragged the girl out of
plane, she was covered with
grease and oil. She was screaming and
kicking, and the words that flew from
her beautiful lips were not very lady-
like. Then he saw Merrill.

"You!" she screamed. "You

double-crosser! If I

ever get my hands on your

body, I'll the

out of your

until you're a 1"

"Please," said Merrill, quietly,
"you're killing all the love that's in me,
Princess Finger."

The Princess expressed her views on
love before she was safely ensconced in
one of the planes. Finally, Bod Merrill
and Ted O'Brien were alone, and Mer-
rill entered O'Brien's ship and poked
about in the motor.

"Bod," said O'Brien, "it may have
escaped the attention of those police,
because they were so happy to lay their
hands on her — but I'm dying away with
curiosity. How did you know where
she was?"

Merrill sighed.

"How did I know?" He shook his
head and sighed again. "You boys fig-
ured out only part of it. You see, I had
two ways to help her escape. One was
to be the decoy while she tried getting
to Osandar. The other was being a de-
coy until she could get out of sight
within a few miles. I chose the second
one, at the last minute, so I fixed the
motor to blank out soon after she
started out. So, naturally I knew she'd
be somewhere around here." He paused
and put the hoods back in place. "Mo-
tor's okay now," he said. "Let's go."

"Pardon me if I sound stupid," said
O'Brien, "but why did you decide to
let the ship blank out instead of getting
away?"

AMAZING STORIES

Merrill wiped his hands. He looked
very sad.

"Because I was going to come after
her when I got away from the police.
And then I was going to take her waltz-
ing with me some place. She had an-
other day, she said."

O'Brien slapped his forehead and
moaned again.

"Well," he said, resigned, "you were
a romancer right up to the end. I hope
the happy ending this time doesn't be-
cloud the crystal-clear lesson involved."

"I'm cured," Merrill said. "Once
and for all." He was very quiet as he
sat down beside O'Brien. The dawn
was coming up over the gray Martian
landscape. Merrill fumbled in his coat
pocket, then suddenly sat upright.

"Ted!" he said, "I'm going to have
to pay for the fuel I used in that joy-
ride tonight. All that fuel!"

"You should worry," Ted answered.
"How about the reward?"

Bod Merrill looked hard and long at
O'Brien.

"Do you think?" he demanded, "that
I would take money for turning in the
woman I loved?" He sighed and stopped
fumbling in his coat. "Even if she did
steal my watch," he murmured. "At
least its got my picture in it. Maybe
she'll look at it once in awhile and
think of me."

Fortunately, the motors were splut-
tering again as the ship took off, so Mer-
rill didn't hear what Ted O'Brien said
to that.

« « ERSATZ » »

WHILE everyone is aware of the re-
markable strides made by Germany
in the synthetic creation and dupli-
cation of basic materials, there is, somehow,
a tendency to forget that right here in Amer-
ica experiments have been conducted which
indicate that in the field of synthetic pro-
duction we have equalled and surpassed the
best efforts of any other nation in the world.
Perhaps this is because our synthetic experi-
ments have not received the publicity of
those of other nations.

For instance, Henry Ford, one of the
country's most ardent exponents of con-
servation through synthetic, production, has
been directing his experimentation toward
the commercial use of tree bark, com cobs
and cellulose fibers for years. But it was
only recently that the newspapers and the
public awoke to the amazing results which
the Ford laboratories were achieving.

Ford has announced that experimental
automobile bodies, constructed from cellu-
lose fibre plastics, have already been built.

Furthermore he has predicted that in a few
more years most of the materials going into
the construction of motor cars will come,
not from mills and factories, but from the
farms of the country. These cellulose cars
will be easier to propel and will be several
hundred pounds lighter than those of con-
ventional steel design.

The field of plastics is practically unlim-
ited. Houses and offices, in the future, will
use material of this nature almost exclusive-
ly it is predicted. The Ford laboratories
have succeeded in making tile from corn
cobs and tree bark and they have produced
smooth, handsome looking silk socks from
ordinary sawdust.

Also they have created synthetic fuel
from potatoes, corn, rice and other farm
products. Thus America will soon be driv-
ing cellulose cars powered by vegetable
"juke" and liking it fine. It's a back-to-
nature movement on wheels that will con-
serve priceless basic materials which are of
prime importance to the national defense. —
William P. McGivern.

AMAZING STORIES

CAGLIOSTRO

COUNT CAGLIOSTRO was one of the most
bizarre and fantastic characters the world
has ever produced. He was born in Pa-
lermo in 1743, of poor but respectable parents,
who little dreamed that their new-born son would
live to amaze and disrupt the capitals of Europe.

Cagliostro's childhood and youth were unevent-
fully spent in a monastery in Cartagoire, where he
picked up a scanty, sketchy knowledge of chem-
istry. Equipped with this and his native shrewd-
ness, he severed his home ties, dropped his real
name of Ouiseppe Balsamo and, as Count Cag-
litistro, philosopher and alchemist, sallied forth to
dip his nimble fingers into the pockets of a credu-
lous world.

Greece, Egypt and Asia knew him first. Through
these countries he traveled selling his "elixir of im-
mortal youth.-' Kings and Suitans and titled
nobles vied with one another for the favor of his
advice and company. In Venice he succeeded in
captivating and marrying the almost incredibly
beautiful Lorenza Feliciana, who became his skill-
ful accomplice in his later schemes and manipula-
tions.

Then, posing as a necromancer and Free-mason,
Catrliostro journeyed through Russia and England
with his beautiful wife, duping hundreds of aristo-
crats and nobles with his wily glibness.

To give the devil his due, Cagliostro must have
possessed a magnetic, compelling personality. For
wherever he went men and women followed him
as if he were a new version of the Pied Piper.
The most intelligent and best informed minds of
Europe and Asia listened to him, believed him,
went to him for treatments and advice and paid
him fabulous sums for this dubious privilege.

It was not, however, until he reached Paris that
the record of his chicanery begins to assume stag-
gering proportions. Here, in the tawdry glittering
magnificence of the palace of Versailles, Cagliostro
was revered almost as a god. Courtesans and
kings believed him to be immortal; in fact they

-MAGNIFICENT CHARLATAN

believed that he had lived since the dawn of time.
Picture, if you can, the spectacle of nobles and
princes crowding about this arch-charlatan while
he describes for them, in vivid detail, the fall of '
Rome, the Crucifixion, the death of Caesar and
other dramatic historic events!

For incredible sums he distributed his "elixir of
immortality" throughout the capital of France.
For additional consideration he foretold the future
for his admirers and, you may be sure, he promised
them all happy hunting in the days to be.

About this time Cagliostro, the wonder-worker,
as he was called, became involved in the mys-
terious affair of the diamond necklace, the scandal
that rocked Paris to its foundations for months.
The facts in this baffling case were never very
clearly brought out, but it is known that Marie
Antoinette and Countess Lamotter-Valois were in-
volved along with Cagliostro and other noblemen.
It is known, however, that the priceless diamond
necklace disappeared completely and was never
seen since. It is more than probable that the wily
Cagliostro, who had been acting as agent for both
parties in the case, was one diamond necklace
richer at the conclusion of the affair. This has
never been proved however. Cagliostro was sen-
tenced to the bastille for his part in the affair but
with his customary cleverness, he succeeded in in-
venting a plausible tale which effected his release.

For five more years this amazing character suc-
ceeded in dazzling the courts of Europe with his
presence and manner, but finally a Spanish court
found him guilty and sentenced him to death.
This sentence was later commuted to fife imprison-
ment and he died in 1795. His w r ife ended her
days in a convent.

While we cannot condone or minimize the of-
fenses of this almost legendary rogue, we are forced
to admit that the ingenuity and brilliance of Cag-
liostro, the magnificent charlatan, have never been
surpassed in any age or country. — William P.
McOivern.

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LASALLE EXTENSION UNIVERSITY • A CORRESPONDENCE INSTITUTION

DEPT. 5I5-H CHICAGO, III.

Quaqqle

by WILLIAM P. McGIVERN

Quintus Quaggle's whole future depended on
instant and decisive action. But just at
that important moment — he turned to stone!

THE San Francisco office of the
Puff and Huff Advertising com-
pany was in the midst of some-
thing that could only be described as a
turmoil.

Account executives unbent to whis-
per to clerks. Clerks unbent to the ex-
tent of answering them. In addition
to these precedent shattering occur-
ences the switchboard operator had
stopped chewing her gum, and after
that anything could happen.

For the rumor was flying about the
firm that Mr. Phineas P. Puff, of the
New York office, was arriving in town
that very day and his first port of call
would naturally be the branch office.

His visits always created a furor be-
cause, Mr. Puff being pretty much a
standard executive, was fond of shout-
ing incoherently at his employees to
cover up the painful fact that he had
nothing intelligent to say to them. But
on this particular trip, rumor had it,
Mr. Puff was going to shake up the
staff, fire half the office, promote the
other half and deliver a rousing pep
talk to the new employees. This latter
group, the dark rumor also hinted,
would be great in number.

In an obscure corner of the outer
offices a small, timid looking individual
sat hunched behind a neat desk taking

no part in the subdued hysteria that
was rampant in the agency. This in it-
self was not unusual, for Quintus Quag-
gle, filing clerk un-extraordinary, made
it a habit to pay attention to his work
and no attention to office gossip and
speculation.

But Quaggle's tranquillity this morn-
ing was due to another reason. Quintus
Quaggle wanted desperately, almost
frantically to be a copy writer and he
hoped to convince Mr. Puff of his abil-
ity and ingenuity. Therefore Mr. Puff's
visit rilled him with hope and confi-
dence, for Quintus had prepared sev-
eral layouts and sample advertisements
to display to the all-powerful Puff.

Quintus knew they were good. They
had to be good. His whole future de-
pended on their being good. Thinking
of this, Quintus dotted a last "I" care-
fully, stood up and walked the length
of the office, not stopping until he
reached a desk where a slim, dark-
haired girl in a red dress was working.

He swallowed once, then twice, as he
always did in Phylis Whitney's pres-
ence. In Quintus' opinion, it was the
eighth wonder of the known world that
this adorable girl would even speak to
him. He didn't question the miracle
when she did. He merely accepted it
as a Tibetian Llama might accept the

AMAZING STORIES

inner mysteries of some hallowed mon-
astery.

"Phylis," he faltered, "I — I've been
working on some layouts in my spare
time and I'm going to show them to
Mr. Puff when he gets here. I — I
wanted you to know."

"I'm glad you told me about it,"
Phylis said warmly. "It gives me a
chance to wish you the best luck in
the world. I just have a feeling they're
darned good and I'll bet Mr. Puff thinks
the same thing."

"I don't know," Quintus said miser-
ably. "Sometimes they look all right
and then sometimes I think they look
terrible."

"Quintus, you musn't talk like that,"
Phylis said in a tone of voice that might
have told Quintus something had he
sense enough to hear it. "You've got
to develop more confidence, more en-
thusiasm in your work."

"What work?" a voice, masculine
and superior, asked behind them.

pHYLIS and Quintus turned.

Leaning noncholantly against an
adjoining desk was a sleek young man
with a satisfied, superior smile touching
his lips.

Quintus felt a strange resentment
stirring in his breast. This was Gordon
Strong, one of the firm's copy writers.
His sarcastic tongue was usually flick-
ing at Quintus' sensitive hide and his
cynical eyes were generally slanting
hopefully in the direction of Phylis'
pretty, dark head.

"I repeat," he said with a ripple of
amusement in his voice, "what work?"

"Quintus has written some copy,"
Phylis said defensively. "Darned good
copy, too. He's showing it to Mr. Puff
when he gets here."

"Ahh," Strong said mockingly.
"Competition, eh Quaggle? Why didn't
someone tell me there was a genius

lurking under that modest exterior? I
feel terribly, terribly alarmed. Oh yes,
terribly."

Quintus felt the not-so-subtle dig and
shifted uncomfortably. He noticed one
rather peculiar fact. Phylis' hands had
balled into small, but capable looking
fists, and her lips were pressed together
like a pressed rosebud. Given plenty
of time, Quintus might have deduced
something very encouraging from this,
but, unfortunately, time was called at
that precise instant by the stormy ar-
rival of Phineas P. Puff.

The outer door banged inward and
a loud, blustering voice filled the spa-
cious office with unintelligible sound.
Everyone within range of Mr. Puff's
vocal chords immediately dug into their
work with highly suspicious alacrity.

Mr. Puff, a short, pompous man with
a red face and small eyes strode to the
center of the office and glared about.

"Not satisfied," he suddenly bel-
lowed. "Not satisfied at all. Every-
thing gone to pot. Lots of changes
coming around here. Shake things up.
Needs it."

Quintus shrank against the wall and
tried to blend like a chameleon against
the mahogany woodwork. It would be
terrible if Mr. Puff discovered him away
from his desk at this hour of the day.

But Mr. Puff apparently had more
important things on his mind.

"Want copy," he said loudly. "New
copy, bright copy, funny. Gotta be
funny now. Everybody wants to laugh.
I don't know why. I've got nothing to
laugh about. But I don't count. Gotta
think of the customer." Mr. Puff
paused to breathe. Then: "Get me
some funny copy. I don't care what
your job is now. If you can get funny
copy you're a copy writer." Mr. Puff
paused again and glared slowly about
at the faces of his assembled workers.

"Hello," he said quietly. Then he

THE QUANDARY OF QUINTUS OUAGGLE

marched to his office.

yyHEN it was safe, Gordon Strong
laughed, pulled a sheaf of papers
from his pocket.

"Right up my alley," he said smugly.
"I've already written the copy on
Snatzy's Shorts, and it's just what he
wants. Light, funny copy."

He tossed the copy on the desk be-
fore Phylis and Quintus.

Quintus read it with wistful envy.
It was excellent copy. Smooth, clever
and sophisticated. It had just the light
sparkle and gay snap that was required
for Snatzy's Shorts for Men.

"Clever?" Strong stated rather than
asked.

Phylis' small chin hardened.

"Not too clever," she said casually.
"I think Quintus could do as well. In
fact, I'd go so far as to say he could do
better."

An expression of incredulity crossed
the bland face of Gordon Strong. It
was followed immediately by one of de-
lighted, undiluted amusement.

"I'll bet he can," he chortled, "and
I'll bet I'm going to give him the chance.
Who am I to hold back genius such as
his?"

He handed the copy to Quintus.

"Here, Lad," he said with mock
solemnity, "take these home with you.
Study them carefully. Then just knock
out something better. I'm sure you're
as confident as your very charming
champion."

Quintus almost strangled.

"I — I can't," he blurted. He looked
despairingly at Phylis. "I can't write
better than that," he wailed. "I'm just
a dub, Phylis. I'm glad you think I
can do it but honest, I really can't."

"Will you stop apologizing for your-
self?" Phylis cried angrily. "Now take
that copy, and if you don't write some-
thing that will make this look like juve-

nile babblings by comparison I'll never
— I'll never talk to you again."

"Phylis!" Quintus cried, in shocked
anguish.

Her chin tilted stubbornly.

"I mean just that," she said.

Gordon Strong was laughing openly
now.

"Old Man Snatzy will be here to-
morrow to see his new copy," he said
between chuckles, "so have your con-
tribution ready. And just in case he
doesn't go wild about it, you'd better
bring mine back with you. He might
like to see my copy after he sees yours."
Quintus stared helplessly from Phylis'
firm, unrelenting chin to Strong's mock-
ing smile and a baffled, hurt feeling of
rage grew hot in him, and finally bub-
bled over.

"A — all right," he said, searching
desperately for something devastating
and epigrammatic, "I — I'll show you!"

TJOURS later, Quintus sat hunched
over a table in his small walk-up
room and wished fervently that he
could recall his brash promise. Before
him were spread pages of copy and in-
numerable layout designs, the results
of four hours of feverish work. With a
weary sigh, Quintus laid down his pen-
cil and sagged despairingly against the
back of his chair.

"They're no good," he muttered.
"No good at all. My best effort looks
terrible beside Gordon Strong's copy."

It was almost midnight. Quintus
could hardly keep his heavy-lidded eyes
open. Only the thought of how much
hung in the balance kept him at his
task. If he didn't get an inspiration
before morning — he shuddered at the
thought. His chances at getting a copy
writing job would be about on a par
with his chances with Phylis — which of
course would be nil.

In the midst of these black musings

AMAZING STORIES

there came a sudden, sharp rap on the
door. The next second the door opened
and a tall, gaunt creature, dressed in
somber black and carrying a tray be-
fore him, entered the room.

"Hello, Professor," Quintus said un-
enthusiastically. "I'm sorry but I'm
pretty busy right now. Won't have
much time to talk."

The Professor smiled tolerantly and
shoved Quintus' copy to one side to
make place for the tray he was car-
rying.

"I just brought you a little drink,"
he said genially, "It will help you think
better."

Quintus glanced dubiously at the
greenish liquid in the glass and then
back at the Professor. Neither sight
reassured him particularly.

The Professor was a landmark at
the boarding house. He had been a
philosophic and cheerful inmate since
the time, years ago, when his baggage
and scientific paraphernalia had been
seized by the management in lieu of
rent. It had been a costly move for
the management. For the Professor
had refused to part with his precious
apparatus and had settled down com-
fortably in the basement of the board-
ing house and had remained there ever
since. Now he helped a bit with work
around the house and puttered with
his equipment. He had developed a
strong attachment to Quintus and de-
lighted to surprise him with special
delicacies which he pilfered shamelessly
from the well-stocked cuisine.

He stood before Quintus now, beam-
ing fondly at his expression of dubious
bewilderment.

Quintus, loath to hurt the Professor's
feelings, picked up the glass gingerly.
"What's in it?" he asked uneasily.

The Professor's smile widened. He
shook a coy finger under Quintus' nose.

"Mustn't ask questions," he chortled

with vast good humor. "I'll tell you
what it is— after you drink it."

Quintus chose to overlook the ob-
vious flaw in this argument.

"All right," he sighed resignedly.
"Anything for peace in the family."

J_JE tilted the glass and drank. The
green liquid flowed down his throat
with surprising smoothness. He set the
glass back on the tray and smacked his
lips. The stuff wasn't bad, he conceded.
Had a sort of tangy, solid taste to it.

"Okay," he said. "I fulfilled my end
of the bargain. Now it's up to you.
What was in that stuff?"

The Professor beamed with childish
delight.

"Hah," he cried, "you didn't recog-
nize it, then did you? I made that
from grapefruit juice and — and the
formula I found in your room this
morning."

"Formula! " Quintus gasped.

"Sure thing," the professor nodded
his head vigorously. "Found some of
that advertising copy of yours on the
table and copied the formula right from
your figures."

"Why you couldn't," Quintus gasped.
"That formula didn't make any sense.
It was just supposed to — to bring out
a point in the advertisement. It was
supposed to attract the reader's inter-
est, nothing more."

"I don't care," the Professor said
promptly. "It may not have made sense
but it made a good drink. I saw the
formula and something about the way
those symbols and letters.fitted in kind
of caught my eye. I've got a great eye
for formulae you know. I said to my-
self, I said, a formula that pretty must
be of some use. So I took it down
stairs and mixed it up. Got some potash
and calcium and stirred the thing up.
Then I put in the grapefruit juice and
there you have it. If nothing happens

THE QUANDARY OF QUINTUS QUAGGLE

to you, I'll put it on the market. Might
make a good liver extract."

"If nothing happens to me!" Quin-
tus echoed in horror. "You mean you
didn't try this on any one else before
you gave it to me?"

"That's right," the Professor said
genially, "you're the first. If you feel
anything funny let me know. Can't put
it on the market till it's just right.
Well," the Professor moved to the door,
"good night now. See you tomorrow,"
he paused in the doorway to add cheer-
fully, "that is, if you're up. Good
night."

"Good night," Quintus quavered. His
head was reeling. His stomach felt very
queer. He looked down at the copy into
which he had been trying to put spark
and zest, and groaned. He got up grog-
gily and moved to his bed. He stretched
out wearily. A dozen weird, confused
thoughts chased around in his head.
Phylis Whitney and Gordon Strong were
writing humorous copy together while
the Professor and Mr. Puff drank cal-
cium highballs and laughed happily.
Then he must have dropped off. . . .

'TPHE sun in his eyes awoke him. He
peered uncertainly about and then
clambered anxiously to his feet. His
alarm clock said eight o'clock. That
was desperately late for him. He looked
down at his rumpled clothes and decid-
ed he wouldn't have time to change
them. He shoved his thin hair from
his eyes and moved to the door.

Then he remembered the copy he had
promised to write.

He paused in his tracks and his
shoulders slumped with the weight of
his gloom and despair. Gone was any
chance of making good his wild boast.
Phylis would be through with him and
he could already hear Gordon Strong's
superior laugh and sarcastic jibes. He
picked up Strong's copy and stuck it

glumly into his inner pocket. He looked
at the alarm clock again and, for one
revolutionary instant, he thought of
defying everyone with the grand smash-
ing gesture of arriving late at the office.
But years of habit had a strong hold
on Quintus' actions, and, after a brief
but losing battle he turned wearily and
left his room.

He paused at the head of the stairs,
thinking gloomily of his complete and
dismal failure. Suddenly a hoarse fem-
inine voice disrupted his melancholy
reverie.

"Quaggle!" the piercing hail ema-
nated from the dining room just under
Quintus' feet. "Are you coming down
to breakfast or ain't you?"

Quintus started. Goodness, he
thought wildly, on top of everything
else, I'll have Mrs. Murphy after me.

"Coming," he shouted.

He started down the steps — and
something happened!

He paused in the middle of a step,
every muscle, every nerve in his body
suddenly contracting into rock-hard
rigidity. Before he had a chance to
cry out, he was falling. Falling with
majestic, ponderous deliberation. Like
a giant redwood he toppled, gathering
speed with every inch he fell. He could
hear the air rushing out from under
him. He tried frantically to throw his
hands before his face but it was a futile
attempt. His arms seemed bound to
his side, his whole body felt as if it
were in the relentless grip of some
mighty contracting force.

Then he struck. He heard a rending,
tearing crash as the stairway gave way
beneath his body. Through the ragged,
splintered wood his rigid body plum-
meted, smashing everything under it,
until it landed with a mighty thumping
crash on the dining room floor.

He could hear Mrs. Murphy scream-
ing and crying to the saints for deliv-

AMAZING STORIES

erance. There was roaring Babel of
voices beating against Quintus' ears as
he struggled dazedly to his feet. But
he heard them not. His mind was ob-
livious to all but the incredible phenom-
enon it had just recorded. Unbeliev-
ingly he stared upward at the jagged
rent in the ceiling and stairs.

It was not a hallucination. It had
actually happened. He had crashed
through the floor just as if he weighed
tons. He remembered then the paraly-
sis that had assailed him momentarily
and his confusion increased. What had
happened to him?

TT was about this time that the voices
began to filter in.

"You'll pay for ever cent of it," Mrs.
Murphy shouted for the tenth time.
I'll have no April fool monkeyshines in
my house."

One of Quintus' fellow boarders, a
dark-haired paunchy lawyer, grabbed
him by the arm.

"Don't listen to her," he cried. "We'll
settle this in court. You might have
been killed!" He wheeled on the Mrs.
Murphy, face crimson with indignation,
"What are you running, may I ask, a
death trap? Is it that you don't like
Mr. Quaggle personally that you try to
kill him? I will ask you that in court
and before you can answer I will get a
continuance for my fine client and
friend, Mr. Quaggle."

"Please," Quintus said tearfully, "I
don't want any trouble. It was my
fault. Something funny happened to
me. I don't know just what it was
but—"

Mrs. Murphy paid him no heed. Her
eyes and attention were focused on the
righteous figure of the lawyer.

"So," she said with terrible calmness.
"It's a death trap I'm runnin' is it?
Well let me tell you Mr. Wolf," her
voice rose to a strident scream, "you'll

think it is before I get through with
you."

Mr. Wolf backed hastily away. Mrs.
Murphy followed grimly. Mr. Wolf
turned suddenly and sprinted toward
the kitchen and Mrs. Murphy, with a
Comanche scream, gave chase.

Quintus wheeled and ducked out of
the house. His mind was churning at
full speed but it wasn't giving him any
answers to the baffling questions it pre-
sented. He groaned to himself as he
hurried down the street. He was al-
most late for work now. If he didn't
get to work with Gordon Strong's copy
on Snatzy's Shorts, he'd be through for-
ever with Puff and Huff. And, he
thought miserably, with Phylis too. But
even more than these disastrous possi-
bilities, he pondered on the amazing
thing that had happened to him on the
staircase. It was baffling and incred-
ible but still it had happened. He wiped
his damp brow with a trembling hand.

J_TE was still thinking of this when he
starfed across the street. A large
truck was bearing down on him and
Quintus quickened his pace to get out
of its path. He was in the middle of the
street and the truck was within twenty
feet of him when it happened again.

A sudden rigidity seized him. Every
muscle froze into rock-like hardness.
Poised on one foot, arms flailing the
air, Quintus concretized into statuesque
immobility, presenting a spectacle that
might remind one of a motheaten Dis-
cus Thrower.

He was powerless to move, powerless
to scream, powerless to even move the
muscles of his face. He heard the
shrill screech of the truck's brakes,
heard the whining protest of the tires
and then he felt a jar travel through his
rigid frame. He fell, slowly, ponderous-
ly to the pavement. He felt nothing,
no pain, no sensation at all. To his

THE QUANDARY OF QUINTUS OUAGGLE

horror he heard the concrete pavement
crack and chip as he struck and rolled.
Lying on his side he could see the truck
— on the sidewalk, its hood rammed
through the front of a grocery store.

The driver was climbing from the
cab, staring at Quintus' figure with in-
credulous horror and shock.

A police whistle blasted through the
air and then a large blue-coated, red-
faced figure came into Quintus 1 range
of vision. He glanced at Quintus in
amazement and then turned his atten-
tion to the driver of the demolished
truck.

"What happened?" Quintus heard
him ask.

"Chief," the driver gasped hysteri-
cally, "I swear I'm telling the truth.
That guy," he pointed at Quintus,
"walked right in front of my truck.
Just as calm as you please. Then he
stopped right there in front of my truck,
like he was asking me to hit him. I try
to swing out but I can't make it. I hit
him and then the truck goes out of con-
trol. So help me officer that's the
straight of it."

"Hmmmm," the copper said thought-
fully," "we'll see what our friend has
to say." He stepped over to Quintus,
stopped, grabbed him by the shoulder.
"See here — "

His voice broke off and a wondering
expression crossed his face. He straight-
ened up slowly and fixed an accusing
eye on the truck driver.

"So you're tryin' to fool Tim Doolin
are you?" he bellowed. "It walked in
front of you did it? Well maybe you
can tell me how it is a stone statue
walked in front of your truck?"

Quintus listened in stunned disbelief.
The officer was calling him a statue.
That wasn't possible. It was — Quintus
gave up thinking. A blanket of quiet
despair settled over him.

The truck driver had dropped to his

knees, was shaking Quintus frantically.

"He walked, I tell you," he shouted
desperately, "walked in front of my
truck and then stood there without
moving."

"What're you givin' me?" the copper
roared. "You can see it's a solid stone
statue can't you? Some devil's helper
must've put some clothes on it and
dragged it here for a prank."

"No, no," the truck driver screamed
hysterically. "He walked I tell you.
Maybe he's turned to stone or some-
thin'."

QUINTUS heard the words and they
sounded like a death knell. Turned
to stone! That's what had happened.
But why had he snapped out of it the
first time it had attacked him? For he
was now sure that this was the explana-
tion of his drop through the stairs at
Mrs. Murphy's boarding house.

This numbing realization came to
Quintus as he lay helpless and rigid in
the street while the altercation between
the officer and the truck driver raged
over him.

It was not a comforting thought. He
searched his mind desperately for some
explanation and then, with the force of
a pile driver, a thought burst into his
consciousness.

The Professor's queer compound of
calcium and potash and grapefruit juice
that he had drunk the night before
must be responsible for this amazing
transformation. The hodge podge of
chemical formulas that he had written
into the sample advertising copy must
have contained some mysterious or ac-
cidental properties that would account
for his metamorphosis. It was a wild,
unimaginable conclusion but it was the
only one his tired, distraught brain
could reach.

A wailing siren put a period to his
thoughts. Seconds later a black maria

AMAZING STORIES

pulled up to a stop and a half dozen
policemen climbed out.

"What's up?" the sergeant snapped.

"This drunken son of satan," the
copper roared, pointing a thick red
finger at the truck driver, "ran into
this statue that some wag put in the
middle of the street. Now he's tryin'
to tell me that it isn't a statue at all.
He says it -walked in front of him, if
you please, and waited there for him to
run into it."

The sergeant scratched his head.
Then he prodded Quintus with his toe.

"It's a statue all right," he said
grimly, "a rock statue." He turned to
two of his men, nodded toward the
truck driver. "Throw him in the wa-
gon, book him for drivin' while intox-
icated and insultin' the intelligence of a
police officer."

"But," the driver protested hyster-
ically, "I tell you he did walk. He
walked right in front of my truck
and — "

His sentence was rudely interrupted
at this point as two husky policemen
grabbed him by the arms, dragged him
to the patrol wagon, and tossed him in-
side. A second later the motor roared
to life and the black maria rumbled
away.

"I've had the museum notified," the
sergeant said," returning from the call
box, "and they're sending a truck over
right away." He glanced down at Quin-
tus and shook his head. "Though why
anybody should want to keep something
like that is beyond me."

QUINTUS heard this with growing
anger and mortification. While he
was smarting under these emotions he
heard a truck turn into the street, pull
up to him and stop. Lettered on the
side of the truck was the information:
San Francisco Municipal Museum.
Quintus could see men crawling from

the rear tailgate of the truck with ropes
and tackle in their hands. They went
to work speedily and efficiently. Ropes
were draped about Quintus' recumbent
form and the truck was backed up next
to him. He heard a hoist crank re-
volving creakingly and the next instant
he was rising from the pavement. Four
feet, five feet he rose before a couple
of the men swung his two-ton body into
the truck. Then the hoist rachet was
released and Quintus dropped to the
floor of the truck with a stony rattle.

"Don't know how they got it away,'.'
he heard one of the workmen say be-
wilderedly. "Must've stole it from the
museum last night with a truck and a
block and tackle. Can't see how any
man would want a silly looking thing
like that, though?"

"Funny thing," another added. "I
mean those clothes on the statue.
They're regular clothes. They wouldn't
waste good clothes on a statue would
they?"

"It's not our worry," the first replied.
"All we got to do is get this thing back
to the museum and our troubles are
over."

Quintus heard the tailgate clam with
a banging sound of finality. Seconds
later the motor started and the truck
rumbled away. Quintus felt an an-
guished despair creeping over him. On
his way to the museum to be displayed
like a statue while the Puff and Huff
advertising agency tore their hair and
damned the day that Quintus Quaggle
had entered their employ. It was too
much.

On top of these calamities there was
Phylis, sweet lovable Phylis who had
had confidence in him. What would
she think of him? Maybe when the
memory was no longer bitter she would
come down to the museum on Saturday
afternoons and put flowers around his
neck. This was a touching thought

THE QUANDARY OF QUINTUS QUAGGLE

but not very encouraging.

The truck rumbled on and Quintus
thought of the language he would use
if he ever got back to normal. He had
reached the end of his not too extensive
vocabulary when the truck stopped with
a jar.

The doors were opened. The ropes
and hoists did their work again and
finally Quintus' rigid body was wheeled
into the museum on a dolly.

A MAN with a black satin smock

came over and peered closely at
Quintus.

"I don't remember this one," Quintus
heard him mutter, "but wheel it over
to the municipal gallery. We can use
something innocent-looking over there.
The wives of the Municipal board are
coming here today to protest against
the indecent art work they claim I've
brought in here. With this statue to
show 'em we may get by."

The laborers rolled Quintus through
the museum, past the countless objet
d'art that were littered about the floor,
through to a narrow aisle that led to
a group of statuarv entitled simply,
MUNICIPAL EXHIBITION OF
SAN FRANCISCAN EXPRESSION-
ISTIC SURREALISM.

Quintus was wheeled in front, of this
imposing group and unceremoniously
dumped to the floor. His soul was
writhing with the indifference and lack
of interest displayed in him but there
was nothing he could do about it. He
could see a clock on the wall and its
hands pointed to nine o'clock. Mr.
Snatzy was just about stalking into the
Huff and Puff agency to demand a look
at the copy which Quintus had in his
breast pocket. The situation was lost
now. Everything had gone smash.

In the middle of these gloomy
thoughts Quintus heard a number of
voices approaching him. They be-

longed, it turned out, to three smock-
coated men, evidently museum attend-
ants. They stopped at sight of him,
perplexed. Then they hurried to his
side. Quintus could hear snatches of
their conversation.

"Never saw this before." ^

"Somebody put some clothes on it for
a practical joke."

"Well we haven't got all day. Let's
take 'em off."

Quintus tried desperately to open his
mouth, to shout the truth to them but
it was no go. He could feel his clothes
being torn from his body, his shoes
jerked off, his shirt removed. In a
matter of minutes Quintus was
stretched on the floor with nothing but
his shorts left to hide his mortification.

"Get a jack and a hoist," he heard a
voice say, "we'll prop this specimen
up in place."

Within a few minutes Quintus found
himself on top of a pedestal, poised on
one foot, arms outflung. It was the
supremely embarrassing moment of his
life, but not by a flicker of an eyelid
or the blush of a cheek did he betray
his humiliation. He stood there on one
foot, a thin narrow-chested little man,
with a furtive, hunted expression
stamped in stone on his face, posed
like a poor facsimile of a heroic Grecian
athlete.

The museum attendants laughed un-
controllably.

"Wait a minute," one of them said
between spasms, "we haven't taken the
shorts off yet. That's why the blamed
statue looks so funny. It's the shorts,
they make it look almost human."

Suddenly a babel of voices could be
heard over the hum of the museum;
feminine voices, strident and angry,
coming closer and closer.

, "The jig's up," one of the attendants
hissed, "here come those women that
was goin' to look over this group this

AMAZINS STORIES

morning. We'll get the sack for this
sure."

"Not if they don't see us," another
snapped. "Quick! Grab those clothes
and those shoes. We gotta clear out of
here. No time to get those shorts off
that statue now. Scram 1 "

r J"'HERE was a frantic scurrying of
footsteps and Quintus was left alone.
Alone in his shorts to meet the indignant
women and the photographers who now
came tumbling through the narrow aisle
and into the room that housed the SAN
FRANCISCAN statuary group.

Quintus felt wave after wave of em-
barrassment flooding over him. With
all his spirit he longed to flee, to leap
from the pedestal and hide himself be-
hind something more concealing than
the shorts he was wearing. Pink striped
shorts, he recalled with a shudder.
Down the legs of the shorts the word
Snatzy was formed by looping violets
intermingling with trailing hyacinths.
As if he need that to make his humili-
ation complete. He had been wearing
them in the feeble hope that they might
inspire him to write of them with more
effectiveness and sparkle. He was sorry
now that he had ever donned them.

The women and the photographers
were milling in front of him now. From
the horde of angry women uncompli-
mentary epithets floated up to him.

"Disgraceful!"

"Revolting!"

"It should be smashed!"

The photographers moved in close
with their flashbulbs raised. The women
gathered in a determined circle at the
base of Quintus' pedestal as if they
wanted to smash it and him on the spot.

"Just a minute, ladies," one of the
photographers called." We need one
clear shot before you do anything vi-
olent."

An instant later a brilliant, blinding

light exploded in the room as eight or
ten flash bulbs ignited simultaneously.

Some of the women jumped involun-
tarily.

So did Quintus Quaggle!

At the instant of the lightning ex-
plosion the rigidity flowed from his
body, his muscles loosened and — he
jumped involuntarily.

He teetered precariously on top of
the swaying pedestal and then with a
wild cry he crashed to the floor, landing
in the center of the throng of astounded
women. For a split instant there was
a terrible, pregnant silence. Then the
women found their voices and made up
for their silent second. Their wild,
hysterical screams flooded the museum
as they fought and clawed to get out of
the room. Some of them stared at
Quintus as if mesmerized, unable to
speak or move.

"I — I'm sorry," Quintus began but
that was as far as he got.

With a wild whoop the women came
to life and charged after their fleeing
sisters, who were chasing after the
cameramen.

Quintus was left quite alone.

J^OR several seconds he was too
amazed to act and then, as full real-
ization struck him, he wheeled and
darted down the corridor taken by the
museum attendants, who had purloined
his clothes. But it was not his clothes
that Quintus was after primarily. It
was the Snatzy shorts copy that was
in the pocket of his coat. If he could
get that, get to the agency, there might
still be hope.

He rounded a corner, jerked open a
door and stumbled into a furnace room.
His eyes swept the room expectantly.
There was nothing — his heart suddenly
pounded hopefully. There on a garbage
heap was a brown coat. Hardly daring
to believe his good luck, Quintus

THE QUANDARY OF QUINTUS QUAGGLE

dragged the garment from the ashes,
slid his hand into the pocket — felt
smooth crisp paper under his fingers.
Holding his breath, Quintus pulled out
the sheaf of papers. A glance con-
vinced him that he had what he wanted.

He shoved them hurriedly back into
the pocket, slipped into the coat. He
looked about frantically but he could
see nothing of his shoes or pants. It
was at this moment that the Hero in
Quintus Quaggle rose to the surface.

"To hell with 'em," he cried stoutly.
"This copy has got to get through."

With this high resolve burning in his
heart, Quintus set out. Short on pants
but long on courage, shirtless but
plucky, Quintus wrapped the skimpy
coat about him like a shield.

He raced through Bay's park and
was mistaken by a group of maypole
maidens for one of their number, who
happened to be missing. An irate cop-
per chased him through the park and
he escaped durance vile by leaping on
the rear bumper of a car that pulled
out from the curb and roared away.

This was just the start. For a fran-
tically hectic half hour, Quintus dodged
women and police, clung to trucks and
cars, and finally, panting and desperate,
stumbled into the lobby of the building
which housed the Puff and Huff adver-
tising agency. Fortunately the elevator
operator knew Quintus and, with some
grave misgivings, whisked him to the
sixteenth floor.

Quintus staggered from the elevator,
bare-footed and bare-legged, clutching
the Snatzy shorts copy in his hand like
a banner. It might not yet be too late.
He shoved open the doors to the agency
just in time to hear a fat, stormy, bald-
headed man bellow:

"I'm through forever with Puff and
Huff and more than that. I'm through
for good. Where is the copy you are
going to have for me? Do you think

it is funny to keep Samuel Snatzy wait-
ing for two hours? I give you no more
chances but one. Produce that copy
or I go. And with me goes my busi-
ness ! "

Quintus swallowed weakly. No one
had noticed him yet. Mr. Puff and
Gordon Strong were trying futilely to
placate Mr. Snatzy. Phylis Whitney
was at her desk, he noticed miserably.
For one humiliating instant Quintus
looked down at his nude nether extrem-
ities and then he drew a deep breath.
The die was cast.

"Gentlemen," he said weakly, "here's
the copy."

TLTEADS turned as if they were one
hinge. Every eye in the room fo-
cused on Quintus' pathetic, half-clad
figure. For a long minute a stunned
silence reverberated in the room. A
stunned silence that was broken by the
head of the Puff and Huff agency.

"You blithering nincoompoop," Mr.
Puff raged. "Give me that copy and
get out of my office before I have you
thrown into jail. You've almost lost
me my biggest account. Where have
you been? No! Don't answer that.
It doesn't matter. Get out! Get out!"

"You — you mean," Quintus faltered,
"you — you don't want me here any
more. You — you sort of want me to get
out. Is that it?"

"Yes that's it!" Puff almost screamed.
"I want you to get out and stay out for-
ever."

"Not a very clever idea, Quaggle,"
Gordon Strong said smoothly. "Trying
to steal my copy to make me look bad.
You should have known you couldn't
get away with it."

"I didn't try and steal your copy,"
Quaggle said beseechingly. "Some-
thing — something very funny happened
to me."

Quintus saw Phylis then. She looked

100

AMAZING STORIES

very angry and determined. She faced
Mr. Puff and Gordon Strong, hands on
her hips.

"Why don't you give him a chance?"
she blazed. "You're condemning him
without giving him a chance to explain
what delayed him." She turned to
Quintus. "Tell them," she said plead-
ingly. "Tell them why you weren't
able to get here with Gordon's copy."

Quintus moistened his lips. He had
a good excuse, the best excuse in the
world, but who would believe him? He
might as well be hung for a steer as a
calf or something. He squared his
shoulders.

"I haven't got a thing — " he started,
but he never finished the sentence.

The doors behind him were burst
open. Two agency men dashed into the
office waving papers over their head.

"Look at this," one of them yelled.
"Talk about advertising ideas. This
is the great grand-daddy of them all.
Snatzy shorts are made from this day
onward."

They flung the papers to Mr. Puff
and Mr. Snatzy, and Quintus staggered
from the edge of the crowd, crestfallen
and despondent. Suddenly a war whoop
blasted through the office. Quintus
jerked his head up just as Mr. Puff
and Mr. Snatzy bore down on him,
waving the papers excitedly.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Mr. Puff
demanded delightedly. "It's the big-
gest idea in years."

"My boy," Mr. Snatzy cried breath-
lessly. "It was worth waiting for."

In unison they spread the papers be-
fore Quintus' widening eyes. He stared
at the front page spread and his knees
wobbled.

For there in screaming black head-
lines was the legend: SNATZY'S
SHORTS ARE STATUARY SENSA-
TION! Beneath this headline was a
full page picture. A full page picture

of Quintus Quaggle poised on a teeter-
ing pedestal, clad in a pink-striped pair
of shorts, plainly marked SNATZY
on either leg.

QUINTUS sagged weakly. "B—
^ but," he protested, "it wasn't real-
ly-"

"Don't be modest, my boy," Mr.
Puff said grandly. "I know genius when
I see it. That's the kind of copy I
want. Humorous stuff, funny stuff.
Makes this drivel of Strong's look
stupid. I want more of this stuff,
Quaggle, and you're my man. Name
your price and I'll meet it."

"Don't say anything," Phylis whis-
pered in his ear, "until — until we talk
it over."

Quintus put his arm around her
shoulder almost, it seemed, by instinct.

"All right, Darling," he said confi-
dently.

"Now look, Quaggle," Puff said sud-
denly, "I've got a campaign lined up in
New York and I want you to get to
work on it. It's a campaign conducted
by some civic group and they want a
lot of a dvertisements to show how heavy
and unbearable the taxes have become.
If you can get me a good idea on that
we'll make millions."

Snatzy beamed fondly and patted
Quintus on the back.

"He can do it," he said proudly.
"That boy's a genius I'm telling you."

Quintus thought desperately. He
knew he wasn't expected to pull an
advertising campaign out of his hat but
if he just could get an idea right on
the spot it would be terribly impressing.

He thought feverishly and little by
little an idea grew.

"Look," he cried excitedly, "I haven't
got it all, but listen. We have bill-
boards printed, showing the average,
middle class man."

"Go on," Puff said tensely.

THE OUANDRY OF OUINTUS OUAGGLE

101

"We show this average man," Quin-
tus was thinking rapidly, "almost
crushed under a mighty avalanche of
taxes and assessments."

"It's good," Puff cried. "Go on!"

"There's this little fellow," Quintus
said excitedly, "bowed under, crushed
to the floor by this huge load. It's so
heavy he can't stand under it." Quin-
tus knelt down, arms outspread. "He's
doing his best trying to hold it up but
it's no use. He's crumbling under the
load, sinking, sinking, sinking. . . ."

Quintus' tongue clove to the roof of

his mouth. A horribly familiar sensa-
tion enveloped him, freezing him into
immobility and rock-like hardness. He
heard a crunching, cracking under his
feet and then with rumbling speed
Quintus crashed through the floor.

A stunned, unbelieving silence
gripped the office. Mr. Puff was the
first to recover. He stepped forward
gingerly and peered through the ragged
hole. Then he looked solemnly about
the awe-stricken group.

"Colossal," he whispered reverently.
"Colossal!"

ODD SCIENCE FACTS

\X7ITH Russia still a deep dark mystery, the
brilliant scientist Peter Kapitza has not been
heard from since his return to Sovietland in IMS.
In the meantime, Prof. Cecil T. Lane of Yale
University, making use of a recently discovered
rough drawing, has built a machine which pro-
duces liquid helium quickly and cheaply. Ka-
pitza's brainchild now makes a quart in about two
hours at a cost of $S; ihe old method took twenty-
four hours and cost $50. Prof. Lane uses the
liquid helium in his effort to discover a means of
transmitting electrical energy without loss.

A CHIP off a famous old block is Ashley
Cooper Hewitt of Pasadena, Gal., grandson
of Peter Cooper, builder of the first American lo-
comotive. An aviation and automotive engineer,
Hewitt has built a four-cycle, single sleeve-valve
motor with only ten moving parts. With a bore
and stroke of one and three-fourths inches, the
Hewitt engine develops three times the power of
an ordinary motor the same size. In fact, it's
even more powerful than a supercharged airplane
engine of the same dimensions.

* * *

OCIENCE-FICTION writers may be dismayed
^ to learn that the center of the earth, far from
being liquid, is very possibly a metal in which hy-
drogen gas has been dissolved. Thus experiments
at Fordham University seem to indicate. If the
earth's core is actually solid, all kinds of theories
and calculations would be upset.

* * *

TVIONEY doesn't mean a thing to General Elec-
trie. They've just developed a million-volt
X-ray tube which gives off energy equivalent to

$<30,000,000 worth of radium. This super-voltage
tube is used to find flaws in large castings for elec-
trical equipment. It photographs through four-
inch steel in less than two minutes. The process
formerly took an hour.

* * *

T TNSIGHTLY and ungainly gas storage tanks
need no longer be cluttering up our skylines,
a menace to aviation and a temptation to camera
fiends. Natural gas can now be liquefied for stor-
age.

Here's how it's done: First ammonia steps the
temperature down to 27 degrees below zero, F;
then ethylene to minus ISO degrees F. Two addi-
tional steps, both secret, complete the process, and
bingo 1 we have a liquid, not a gas I

To reverse the process and make this water-
colored liquid available to consumers as gas once
more, steam is applied.

It has been figured out that a tank with 2,197
cubic feet liquid capacity can hold IS million
cubic feet of liquefied gas.

The first liquid gas storage tank, at Cleveland,
is surrounded by a three-foot thickness of cork
insulation to maintain the temperature. Since steel
becomes brittle at minus 250 degrees F., a special
nickel steel was used.

* * *

HpHE R A F. doesn't miss a trick. Now comes a
*■ new gadget— aluminum powder, dropped on
the surface above a submarine to form an easily
visible "slick." The warbird, you see, is traveling
too fast to keep the Untersecboot in view. Re-
turning, he spots the location and jerks his bomb
release. — Arthur T. Harris.

Wade Hawkins and Brad Skene ought to have
known better than to mix into Martian revolutions
and plots, but Tonya was beautiful— if not sincere!

IF there's anything sane or logical
about a Martian, I've never no-
ticed it. As a race, Martians are
the wildest, most hot-headed, utterly
unpredictable band of zanies in the
entire interplanetary chain. Charming,
yes. Courtly, certainly. Gallant, why,
naturally. But goofy — wow!

You don't have to take my word for
this. Ask Wade Hawkins, the rotund,
cherubic faced space chum with whom
I got my first taste of Martian hocus
pocus. Wade will tell you the same
thing I do, for he's still up there in that
hornet's nest. Maybe I better go back
to the start of the thing.

Wade and I had just gotten the
bounce, the old heave-ho, from Trans-
planetary Spaceways Company. We
jockeyed space freight back and forth
along the interplanetary chain for that

band of legalized robbers for about
three years. I was pilot, and Wade was
my co. But then there was an incident
in which four quarts of Venusian gin
and a wench from Saturn figured prom-
inently. Transplanetary Spaceways
didn't give us two weeks notice. They
just gave us a month's pay and a don't-
come-back.

We were left stranded on Mars. Of
course, we had just enough left for a
passage back to Earth. But that dis-
missal dough was burning holes in our
tunic pockets, and there wouldn't be
another space liner going back for an-
other, uh, er — we ended up in a Mar-
tian Cafe.

Wade was pretty tanked as we sat
at a dinky little table in that Martian
night spot. I don't think I was feel-
ing any pain, either.

104

AMAZING STORIES

"S'a damn good thing," Wade mut-
tered, his round red face gleaming.
"Been wanting to quit those penny-
pinchers fer a long time ! "

"Yeah," I answered, bending my el-
bow. "Cheapskates. Didn' 'ppreciate
us anyway!"

We might have gone on like that in-
definitely, giving our ex-employers hell
all night, if a luscious, raven-haired,
Martian cutie hadn't hipped past our
table at that moment. Wade and I
were on our feet simultaneously. I was
a little bit more sober, so I got the
words out first.

"Hiya, honey," I made a low bow.
"Wouldja mind pausing to converse
with a forlorn stranger?"

"Two forlorn strangers!" Wade
glared balefully at me.

The Martian Miss hesitated, her
white teeth flashing against that
luuuhvly background of raven hair and
slightly dusky complexion. I was
mentally wagering my very best pair
of space boots against a plugged Venu-
sian nickle that there wasn't a prettier
gal anywhere in the universe, when
she answered.

"Why, I theenk I would be dee-
lighted!"

There was a wild scramble, while
Wade and I battled to get her to sit
beside each of us, but she settled the
dispute by pulling up a chair and sit-
ting down between us.

"I'm Brad Skene," I told her pronto.
"And this guy," I pointed to Wade, "is
named Hawkins."

"Wade Hawkins," my cherubic
:hum put in gloweringly.

"I am so veeery glad to know you
both," she smiled. "Earthmen are sooo
nice." My heart was zooming up and
down like a degravitator needle. "My
name is Tonya, Tonya Noronha," she
concluded.

I was handing out my best loving

simper, with occasional glaring glances
at Wade. And Wade was giving forth
with his finest heart-torn glance, with
mingled glares at me — when we both
noticed that the smile had suddenly left
Tonya's lovely red lips. She wasn't
looking at either of us. Her head was
turned slightly toward the door of the
cafe, and her face had gone suddenly
pale!

My eyes followed her gaze. Two
uniformed Martian guards had just
entered, big, black-haired, beetle-
browed fellows, and were craning their
thick necks around to give the joint the
look-over.

"Queek ! " Tonya's voice was a soft
hiss, and she reached into the, er, ah,
throat of her tunic, pulling forth a sheaf
of papers. "Here," she whispered
fiercely. "Hide these, please!"

Automatically, I reached out and
took the papers. Automatically, I
shoved them down into the side of my
space boot. But my eyes were still
fixed on the Martian guards. They
were dressed in those spangled, purple,
comic-opera uniforms that Martians
love to affect. But there was nothing
comic about the drawn atomic pistols
they both held!

npHE music was still playing, and
voices around us were still bab-
bling, but Tonya was rising to her feet.
She was breathing hard and fast —
what a figure she made! — and there
was a hunted look in those gorgeous
dark eyes.

"Hey," Wade said. "Where'ya go-
ing?"

"Goodbye, gentlemen," Tonya
breathed. "I will see you later."

"Hey!" I was on my feet. "Not so
fast!" I was thinking of those papers
in my boot. "Wait a minute!"

But Tonya, moving fast, was shov-
ing through the crowded tables, head-

PEPPER POT PLANET

105

ing for a side door of the cafe. And as
I looked up, I saw the two Martian
guards less than five yards away and
heading for us — fast!

Wade — as I said before — was a little
foggier than I, and he was gazing in
open-mouthed stupidity at the girl's re-
treating figure. He didn't even see the
Martian guards until they were on us.
And then I was yanking Wade to his
feet.

"Nyaaaaah!" snarled one of the
guards, and I didn't like his tone.
"Tonya Noronha was weeth you. She
geeve you something. You geeve to us,
queek!" He extended a huge paw.

Wade had just noticed the guards.

"I don't like these guys," he began
is his customarily bland fashion. And
then, before I could say another word,
my cherubic chum had snapped forth
with a right hook into the face of the
uniformed Martian nearest him!

I must have reacted from sheer force
of habit, because, somehow, in the
space of the next three seconds, I lifted
the table high and shoved it with every-
thing I had — into the face of the Mar-
tian whose paw was extended!

The guy Wade had biffed was
sprawled out fiat on the floor, his
atomic pistol having been lost in the
shuffle. But he wasn't out, and he was
clawing to his feet like an enraged bull
ape, bellowing thunder. Wade was
grinning delightedly, waiting for the
Martian to gain his feet. The man I
hit with the table didn't go out, either.
But he went down, and his atomic
pistol was exploding wildly at the ceil-
ing. By now people were screaming
and the whole joint was a frantic, tear-
ing slug-fest. Everyone was picking a
partner and going to it. Mars is like
that. Drop a pin and you start a
revolution.

I grabbed Wade by the collar, still
thinking of the papers in my boot, and

of Tonya's swift exit. Someone from
another table was now taking care of
the Martian guard Wade had bopped,
so we weren't busy at that instant.

"Come on!" I shouted. "We gotta
find that girl!"

Somehow we fought our way through
that confusion toward the side exit
which Tonya had used. And then we
were out on a narrow little side street,
looking wildly up and down. But there
was no sight of Tonya, just a few
sleepy-eyed Martian beggars leaning
against the walls.

"Hell," I stormed. "She got away.
Probably never see her again."

"Yeah," Wade muttered discon-
solately, "and whatta babe!"

I could agree with my space buddy,
but I was thinking more of those
papers than anything else. I could still
feel them in the side of my space boot.
We were walking slowly along the
dingy little street now, and I remem-
bered that Wade had probably been
too stinking pickled at the moment to
notice. I told him about the papers.

He blinked foolishly. "Geeze, I
didn't notice. You say you still got
'em in your space boot?"

I nodded. "Well, let's take a look
at them," Wade suggested. Simple, but
it hadn't occurred to me until now.

We stopped, and I bent down and
pulled forth the papers. I had them in
my hands when one of the sleepy-eyed
beggars stepped forth. The fellow was
ragged and dirty, but he didn't look
like a Martian. I couldn't place his
planet exactly. But I didn't have time.
For in the next instant something
klunked me on the back of the skull
and I felt myself falling forward, for-
ward, while a million rockets spewed
silver spray into a black void. . .

HTHERE was a familiar vibration
buzzing in my bones and drumming

106

AMAZING STORIES

through my aching skull when I
opened my eyes again. The first thing
1 saw was the stretch of platenoid
planking on which I was lying, and the
next sight to meet my eyes was Wade
Hawkin's trussed-up body lying right
next to me. In another instant, after
trying unsuccessfully to stretch my
aching muscles, I realized that I had
been expertly bound also. The vibra-
tion came from atomic motors throb-
bing directly beneath us, and I realized
that I and my cherubic chum were in
a space ship — somewhere!

The compartment in which we were
lying was small, obviously built for
baggage. And from its size I was able
to judge that the space ship itself
wasn't any too large. There was a
thick, platenoid door — closed — which
led to the front of the ship where our
captors, whoever they were, were lo-
cated.

And then I saw that Wade's blue
eyes were open and he was staring at
me.

"Dammit!" I said, "why didn't you
say something? I thought for a minute
you might be dead." Wade licked his
lips.

"I might as well be," Wade mut-
tered, "with this hangover, plus my
aching bean."

"Well," I began.

"Don't ask me where we are," Wade
cut in. "You and your Martian cuties.
If you could stay away from women,
we wouldn't be in the predicament — "

"Why!" I exploded, "you blank,
blank son of an asteroid. If you hadn't
lost our jobs for us in the first pla — "

"Cut it," Wade said suddenly. "This
isn't going to do my head or either of
us any good."

I realized he was right, and lapsed
into silence. I was thinking, suddenly,
about Tonya and those damned papers.

■'Some joy," Wade said morosely.

"Now, if you'll just gnaw our bonds
loose like a good fellow — "

"Cut the sarcasm," I broke in.
"We're obviously in a jam. And ob-
viously, we'd better start thinking a
way out of it."

"Tonya's aboard the ship," Wade
said matter-of-factly.

"Tonya's aboard!" My voice was
an astonished bleat.

"Yeah," Wade said in that mad-
deningly calm voice of his. "She was
trussed up beside us for some time.
Then they came back and took her out
of the compartment."

I felt a strange, sudden sense of re-
lief to know that Tonya hadn't — as I
suspected for an instant — been allied
with our captors. Then I said:

"They? Who do you mean by 'they'?
For the love of — "

"I don't know who they happen to
be," Wade said, breaking in sharply.
"I'm not an ace sleuth. People. Two
Martians, little and dapper and a third,
tall and dark and good-looking."

I thought this over. "The papers,"
I said at last.

"Bright boy," Wade applauded.

And then I could see heads bobbing
down toward our door. Two typically
Martian faces, moving down the aisle
of the space ship toward the windowed
compartment in which we lay. Behind
them, being half-dragged along, was
Tonya!

T^HE door to our compartment was
kicked open, and Tonya was
shoved inside by the two Martians.
They were slight, dapper fellows, clad
in somber black tunics. One of them
had a moustache. Then they were
gone, and Tonya, bound but for her
shapely legs, was beside us.

"Hello," said Tonya brightly. "I am
afraid I have caused you two much,
much trouble."

PEPPER POT PLANET

107

"What's this all about?" I de-
manded, trying to keep my eyes from
meeting hers. "Give it straight from
the shoulder, Tonya."

"They wanted the papers," Tonya
replied simply. Wade rolled over and
groaned. "If I hear that phrase again
I'll retch," he declared.

"What for?" I was trying to be pa-
tient, still trying to avoid the charm of
those luuuhvly eyes.

"My father's revolution," said
Tonya, and suddenly her slim shoulders
were shaking with sobs, and she was
bawling like a child.

And with her first sobs, even Wade
lost his cynicism, and the old I-love-you
gleam came back in his eyes. Me, I
was as bad as Wade, or worse. When
Tonya cried you wanted to go out and
utterly disintegrate every unpleasant
thing in the universe that might ever
make her cry again. Human* beings
just weren't meant to stand such
appeal.

While Tonya bawled, we got her
story. Her old man, General Noronha,
was a Martian political leader. Or at
least he was the leader of one particular
Martian political faction. There are as
many political factions on Mars as
there are asteroids in space. Tonya
had gone to the night spot on instruc-
tions from her father, the General, to
deliver the papers to one of his spies.
They were detailed papers, plans for
the exact Hour Of Revolution. Every
other hour on Mars is an Hour Of
Revolution to some political faction.

The spy hadn't been there when
Tonya arrived, probably had been way-
laid by Martian guards. So she sat
down at our table to put up a front and
look around. That's when the two
uniformed Martians came in, and the
trouble started. How Tonya had in-
tended to get the papers back from me,
after handing them over, she didn't

explain. Maybe she had a plan to
cover that, maybe she didn't. Martians
are like that.

Tonya had been stopped by one of
those phoney street beggars, probably
the same guy who knocked Wade and
me out cold. And now here we all were,
cozy but quite definitely confined.

"Why did they bring Wade and me
along when they'd gotten the papers?"
I demanded.

Tonya shrugged between gentle sobs.

"They probably thought you were in
on eeet all, and knew too much."

"Where are we now?" Wade asked.
"Have you any idea."

"Out in space, somewhere, probably
not far from Mars," the girl answered.
Then, sobbing even more wildly, she
added: "And at theese vereeey minute,
they are probably keeling my father!"

TT was an unpleasant thought, and I
felt as though I would like person-
ally to strangle anyone who'd touch a
hair of her pappy's skull. But I had to
know more, so I asked: "Who are the
people who brought you back to the
compartment just now?"

"Martian guards," she sobbed,
"Castro is piloting the ship."

"Castro?" I frowned.

"Castro is the enemy of our Cause!"
Tonya said with a sharp, shuddery
loathing. "He would like to be the
General Commissioner of the Martian
State!"

"Now wait a minute," I broke in.
"Isn't Castro allied with the present
Martian government?"

Tonya shrugged her carefully tied
shoulders. "That" — there was scorn in
her voice — "is due to fall any day. No,
Castro is not one of the present govern-
ment. He is the leader of another
political party. He would like to take
over the government, and keep my
father from the post of General Com-

108

AMAZING STORIES

missioner of the Martian State!"

I gulped. This was complex, and no
maybe. A revolution against a revolu-
tion — to see who would perform the
revolution supreme! The puzzle must
have hit Wade the same way, for he
sputtered helplessly. However, this
was a Martian setup, and anything
went. Besides, Tonya was Tonya, as
beautiful as a thousand asteroid angels,
and quite sufficient unto herself.
"Okay," I finally managed to say.
"Now we have a rough idea. Where are
we going?"

Tonya's tear stained cheeks lifted,
and she gazed into my eyes . . . and
when the compartment stopped spin-
ning, she answered:

"No place. No place at all!"

"You mean we're just cruising aim-
lessly around out here in space?" I
blurted.

Tonya nodded. "Passing time, until
Castro's evil men have had time to keel
my father, had time to thwart heese
plans."

I had been looking away from
Tonya's eyes, and so I suddenly saw
a slight protrusion in the platenoid
planking on which we were lying. It
gave me an idea.

"Tonya, your feet are unbound; do
you think you could pry up the edge of
that planking there? It looks like a
floor door leading to the motors of this
ship!"

Wade rolled over to watch in sud-
den interest, and Tonya, nodding ex-
citedly, stepped to the loose planking.
Bit-by-bit the planking came away, as
Tonya pried it loose. Then we were
looking down onto the atomic motors
thrumming away in the bowels of the
ship.

Rolling and inching myself along, I
got to the edge of the opening. The
motor turbines were red hot, and less
than three feet from the floor. I

pushed myself over the opening until
I was lying on it with my hands — which
were tied behind me — dangling down
toward the red hot turbine covers.

Tonya was watching me, so every-
thing was all right when my flesh seared
along my wrists as they touched the
turbine covers. My wrist bonds seared
too, and the stench of burned matter
wasn't too pleasant. Then I rolled off,
hands free, wrists badly scorched!

"There," I said, biting hard on my
lower lip. "Now we can get into ac-
tion!"

'"J^HE look in Tonya's eyes made me
want to go back and burn myself
all over again, just for a repeat per-
formance from her. But I was busy un-
tying Wade's bonds, and he was staring
at me with a sort of wordless envy; like
a jealous school kid who's seen another
punk steel his thunder. Tonya's bonds
were next. And then we were all on
our feet, breathing fast in the sudden
excitement of escape.

"We've got to take it easy," said
Wade, obviously trying to get back into
the running with Tonya by assuming
instant leadership. But he wasn't go-
ing to do it as easy as that. I shoved
him aside and stepped to the compart-
ment door.

"Yeah, we'll have to take it easy.
You wait here with Tonya, and I'll go
forward alone."

The compartment door opened easily
enough, for they hadn't locked it,
realizing that we were bound. As I
stepped out, I saw Wade's face, set
grimly and burning with envy. I
smiled.

"Hold the fort. I'll take care of the
rest."

I moved down the aisle of the middle
compartment cautiously. Evidently the
two Martians and Castro were up in
the pilot's compartment. On my way

PEPPER POT PLANET

109

down the aisle, I grabbed a chemextin-
guisher, and now I held it ready for a
weapon. There was a panel of glass
between the middle compartment and
the pilot's compartment. But a shade
had been drawn down it from the in-
side.

I hesitated. Supposing, as they
probably were, the boys in the pilot's
compartment were armed? I had only
a chemextinguisher — a good weapon,
but not against an atomic pistol or two,
or three.

But then I saw those eyes of Tonya's
again, mentally. And I felt very brave,
and very foolish, and oh-so-damned-
dumb. I stepped up to the door of the
pilot's compartment and swung it open.

"Hold everything!" I shouted dra-
matically, springing into the compart-
ment and waving my makeshift
weapon^ But I didn't get any answer
— or any argument. The three men
were stretched out cold on the long seat
before the instrument panels — snooz-
ing!

And then I saw the whyfor. A quart
bottle of Martian hooch sat atop the
shelf over the instrument panel.
Around it were three empty glasses.
Dead drunk, all three revolutionists,
some fun!

Those eyes of Tonya's came back to
me again, and then I did something
slightly on the low side. I found some
hempwire and tied the tall, handsome
revolutionist, Castro, and his two dap-
per, black-tuniced Martian chums un-
til they were more securely bound than
a birthday package. Then I hid the
glasses and the bottle, thanking God
that the Martian hooch was odorless.
As a final touch, I tipped over a few
things, to make it look like a struggle.

Then, feeling enormously pleased
with myself, I went back to get Tonya
and Wade.

"It's okay," I told them cheerfully.

"You can come along now, Wade!" I
added a dig: "It's safel"

VyHEN Tonya, Wade and myself
got back to the pilotless, litter
strewn pilot's compartment, Wade let
out a gasp.

"Good Lord, Brad, you certainly
fixed these chumps up proper!"

But I wasn't paying any attention
to Wade and the envy that dripped
from his voice. I was leaning nonchal-
antly over the controls of the ship, fish-
ing for a smoke in my tunic pocket, and
looking out of the corner of my eye to
see how Tonya was taking this display
of magnificent bravery. Her face was
calm, unperturbed, and she turned to
me.

"Was eet difficult, Brad?" Her voice
was gentle.

"Rather," I raised a cigarette to my
lips, making a show of my burned
wrist, "but a few taps on their heads
with the chemextinguisher fixed them
up I"

Tonya nodded. "Yes, and the knock-
you-out drops I put in their wheesky
when they led me up here before!"
Those eyes had somehow changed, and
I felt like a thousand squirming
snakes. Wade burst into hooting
laughter. I damned myself for a thou-
sand fools. The girl herself had left
a drug in their whiskey I

"Where to, now?" Wade said at last,
assuming control of things. Tonya
gave him a smile that turned mjj^foul
to acid.

"We must hureeey back to Mars,
Wade," she said, ignoring me. "Al-
ready they are probably tracking down
my father!" She looked at the chrono-
graph on the instrument panel of the
little space ship. "But we have time!"

I still don't know why, with a ship
in our hands and a chance to get back
to Earth, we turned the nose of the

110

AMAZING STORIES

crate back toward the prince of screw-
loose planets — Mars. The answer, of
course, is Tonya, and those eyes of
hers. Wade was at the controls, and I
slipped in beside him. Tonya sat on
the other side, next to Wade, and we
gave the little ship hell, gunning it
toward Mars. . . .

nPIME and space slipped by in a
blur, and finally we were nosing
into a little spacelanding runway to
which Tonya had directed us. She had
removed a sheaf of papers from Cas-
tro's slumbering form just before we
were making ready to moor down, and
I gathered that they were the same
papers for which we'd all gone through
so much hell.

Wade was easing the rocket power,
now, having cut the atomic motors
completely, and finally we slid to a
stall landing on the little runway plat-
form. I had divested the two dapper
little men and Castro of their atomic
pistols, so Tonya, Wade and myself
were armed as we kicked open the door
of the ship and stepped down onto the
landing.

"You said this was your father's
hangout base?" I asked Tonya. She
favored me with a cold nod. After the
little trick heroics I had pulled, Wade
had been getting all the warm atten-
tion. And was he lapping it up!

"You heard Tonya, Brad," my
cherubic chum cut in. "She said this
was the base for her father's revolu-
tionaries. That's enough for met" I
could have punched him in his grinning
pan at that moment. But it wouldn't
have helped, especially with Tonya.

Moving over to the edge of the run-
way platform, I could see an array of
domed structures, about twenty of
them, scattered around the terra firma
beneath the platform.

Tonya and Wade had moved up be-

side me, and the girl spoke more to
him than to me when she said: "Thees
is the revolutionary base. In the domed
buildings down there, my father, the
General, has his men ready to strike
for the Cause!"

Even though I was in Tonya's dog-
house, the way she said those last
words was enough to make me get
shivery all over — like a 1990 crate in
a 50 G space dive.* I felt as though I'd
willingly give my life for the Cause,
whatever it was. There hadn't been a
soul on the runway. Now, however,
figures were clambering onto the plat-
form from the far end and were mov-
ing toward us.

"How about Castro and those other
two back in the ship?" Wade asked.
"Have you got them trussed up se-
curely?"

I gave him a look of infinite scorn.
"Of course," I snapped. "I'm quite
capable, if you get to know me!" I
edged toward my cherubic pain-in-the-
neck, fists balling for a swing.

"Boys!" Tonya's voice halted the
impending brawl.

"Here come my father's men now,"
she said a moment later.

Little black haired Martians, clad in
crimson uniform tunics came swiftly
up on us. Then their leader, a bearded
little man with flashing white teeth,
smiled, recognizing Tonya.

"Ahh," he said with a courtly, sweep-
ing bow. "The General's daughter!"

"Take us to my father," Tonya said
imperiously. "We have an urgent mes-
sage for himl"

* In interstellar space, a space-dive, so-called,
even though there is no specific direction which
might be called "down," takes place when a space
ship descends toward a planet. A 50 G dive would
be a descent made at a speed of 50 gravity attrac-
tions. Earth gravity being the slandard, since the
gravity attraction of each world differs. Thus, a
50 G dive would be made at the speed with which
a body would fall toward a world with fifty times
the gravity of Earth. — Ed.

PEPPER POT PLANET

pENERAL NORONHA didn't look
at all like the father of a creature
as lovely as Tonya. In fact he looked
like something torn from the pages of
an ancient, twentieth century cartoon
strip. He seemed quite surprised, but
not enormously pleased, to see us. He
rose as we entered his sanctum, a fat,
bald, pinheaded little man in a garishly
decorated crimson tunic.

He was smoking a rank Venusian
cigar, and he peered owlishly over the
clouds he puffed.

"Well," he said unenthusiastically,
"well."

Tonya extended the papers she had
gotten from Castro. Her gesture
dripped with drama.

"Here, Father," she said. "You are
saved from Castro's space dogs. These
men here," and she named us, me last,
"were responsible for the safe delivery
of these papers."

General Noronha took the papers
and stuffed them carelessly in a drawer
at his elbow. "Thank you," he beamed
courteously at Wade and me. "I shall
give you a decoration just as soon as
I think of one."

Wade was still shooting for a hit
with Tonya. He stepped forward.

"We don't want any decorations,
General. Anything we've done to help
the Cause, was done because / have
faith in it ! "

The look that Tonya gave him after
that speech made me turn several
shades of green. But I had noticed the
General's face as Wade spoke. The old
duck seemed to flinch.

"Ah, yes," he said. "The Cause."

Then he turned to Tonya. "Daugh-
ter," he said, "would you step out of
the room for a moment? I have some-
thing very secret to tell these gentle-
men." Tonya didn't like it, but she
left, after favoring Wade with another
one of those special looks.

When Tonya had gone, the General
turned to Wade and me. He coughed
delicately.

"My daughter has ideas," he began,
"about Causes." He seemed hesitant
to continue, but went on. "She is a
fiery little vixen, Tonya, and likes to be
in on things, so to speak. Through her
mother's side of the family, she is more
Martian than I am." He smiled
opaquely. "Perhaps that accounts for
her temperament. To keep her pleased,
and, uh, er, out of my hair I let her
compose a brief statement for our, er,
Cause. It is very idealistic, and
worked wonderfully in appealing to the
Martians. They like idealistic Causes,
and we had none until Tonya composed
hers — for me."

"You mean," I began.

The General raised his hand, contin-
uing. "It was also to keep her out of
my, ah, er, hair, that I gave her the
sheaf of papers to be delivered at the
night club in which you gentlemen met
her. It was unfortunate that both the
members of the government forces and
the members of the counter-revolu-
tionary forces got the idea that she was
carrying important papers. For as a
matter of fact, they were quite value-
less. I only arranged the thing to keep
her out of the way. She can become so
very enthusiastic, that I was afraid she
would disrupt the morale of our forces.
However, I was always sure that no
harm would befall her." He smiled.
"Nothing can happen to Tonya, for
she's far too much like her mother,
who, as I said before, was more Mar-
tian than I."

"Then you aren't in danger of being
killed?" Wade blurted out.

"Not immediately. Castro, true
enough, sent members of his counter-
revolutionary group to seek me out.
But they failed. For the information
the papers contained was incorrect."

112

AMAZING STORIES

The General smiled. "Castro is such
an enthusiastic lad, it is a pity he is so
idealistic, and on the wrong side.
Handsome fellow, too."

I shuddered at the thought of Cas-
tro's enthusiasm, feeling pretty damned
certain that he would enthusiastically
have disintegrated us sooner or later
in the space ship. And then I was
thinking of Tonya, and of those eyes,
and that face, and figure. It was the
damnedest jumble I ever encountered
in all my life. But I was still willing
to do and die for that Martian Miss, in
spite of what her pappy had said.

AXT'ADE was looking like someone
had kicked him in the stomach.
Like me, he was probably thinking of
the hell and highwater we'd gone
through to bring these phoney papers
intact to the General, all because of
Tonya.

So we were standing there in a sort
of terrible embarrassed silence. I was
looking apologetically at Wade, and
Wade was looking sheepishly at me —
while the General was beginning to
look a trifle bored.

At which moment, someone came
barging in through the door.

He was a little Martian. His face
was bloody, and his crimson tunic was
smeared with dirt and tatters. He
stumbled up to the General's desk,
gasping for breath and sagging slightly
at the knees.

"General!" he gasped. "They have
come, they have found you, they, the
forces of the government — " And then,
smiling queerly, the little Martian
pitched over on his face. I guess he
was dead.

Now Tonya came dashing in through
the open door. She had evidently heard
everything, or heard the sound of
battle which was beginning to rise out-
side. Her face was pale, but quite as

maddeningly lovely as before. Her
presence seemed to send sparks shoot-
ing all over Wade and myself. Tonya
was looking at her father.

"They are outside, swarming over
the grounds, the men from the govern-
ment forces." Then she was looking
at Wade and myself.

The General was strapping on a belt
which held two atomic pistols. I still
had the gun which we'd taken from
Castro's trio on the space ship — and
so did Wade. Then I guess all three
of us were jammed up at the door at
once, trying to squeeze through to get
out to see the excitement.

We heard the shouting and shooting
before we reached the outside, and by
the time we'd left the little domed
building behind us, we were in a welter
of confusion and carnage. The govern-
ment forces had arrived, all right.
Their purple tunics were everywhere,
many stretched across the ground. It
looked like what had started out to be
a raid had turned into a first class rev-
olutionary battle. Someone had placed
a proton cannon atop the landing plat-
form, and was turning it down on the
makeshift revolutionary headquarters.
Now and again it would fire with a
harsh, whining scream, and a lot more
Martians would die.

J WAS trying to catch some sight of
Tonya, but she'd disappeared.
Wade was still beside me, as was the
General, and all three of us were play-
ing those atomic pistols for all they
were worth. Every time I'd see a
purple clad Martian looking in my di-
rection, I'd pull that atomic pistol lever
and the creature would fade away be-
fore my eyes. I don't think I'd had
time to get the least bit fidgety about
the mess. It was a battle royal and
that was that.

Once or twice I was able to get in a

PEPPER POT PLANET

113

few honest-to-god heroics, when sev-
eral Martians took turns coming up
fast and unannounced on the General.
I managed to pluck them off with my
atomic pistol just as though they were
grapes on a vine. Wade was doing
quite well for himself too, thank you.

But I was the chump who climbed
the landing platform and nonchalantly
captured the proton cannon. I don't
know what in the hell I was thinking
of when I waltzed into the face of that
weapon, for I might as well have been
walking into the face of Death. But
maybe I saw Tonya's eyes again. Any-
way I did it, and turned the damned
thing on the government forces.

Wheeeeeengsplat! Wheeeeeeengsplat!

I was playing that proton gun for
all it was worth, and the purple clad
ranks of the government forces were
rapidly disappearing. This was the
break the revolutionaries had needed.
And now they were taking advantage
of it, and mopping up in great style.

Once or twice I got a glimpse of
Wade from atop the platform. He was
down in the thick of tilings, beside the
General, doing a fine bit cleaning up.
But there wasn't a sight of Tonya, un-
til I suddenly realized that she had
come up and was standing beside mel
I wheeled.

"Get down you little fool. This is
no place for you!"

But Tonya only smiled, and there
was something in her eyes which I had
seen the first time I scorched my wrists
up in the space ship.

"Theeese was so brave!" Tonya
marveled. "Eeet is winning for the
Cause!"

"Yes," I said, "the Cause." And
then I shoved her, hard, so she
sprawled to the platform. "Stay down
there!" I bellowed, "and don't look up
until I tell you it's safe." Tonya stayed
there, and now and then I caught her

eyes looking up at me in that marvel-
ing way. I worked that proton cannon,
now, not giving a damn for anything
in the world but that gal and her screw-
ball Cause. I knew that I'd never give
a damn for anything else.

And now the crimson clad revolu-
tionaries were shouting wildly, tri-
umphantly. The government forces
had been defeated.

It was one of those damfool mo-
ments. I turned to Tonya.

"Look, kid," I said. "I love yuh.
Cause or no Cause, you're wonderful."
We seemed to melt together and every-
thing was spinning like hell. When the
fog cleared I knew Tonya had kissed
me and that the entire revolutionary
army had watched on and was now
shouting its approval.

Wade didn't like the way things
went. But after a while he cooled off.
I guess he knew he was licked.

The General seemed very happy
about his victory, and very happy
about Tonya and me. He made Wade
an Adjutant right on the spot, and told
him there was plenty of room for pro-
motion in his army. This had an ap-
peasing effect on Wade, who was al-
ways a sucker for a uniform.

I did some more swift talking, and,
with the aid of the General, was able
to persuade Tonya that the Cause was
won and that a little rest on Earth
wouldn't hurt either of us. The Gen-
eral took me aside after that, and told
me that if I could keep his daughter on
Earth, he would make it well worth
my while. Which was all right with
me, for I wanted no more of Mars.

You see, if there's anything sane or
logical about a Martian, I've never
noticed it. As a race, Martians are
the wildest, most hotheaded, utterly
unpredictable band of zanies in the en-
tire interplanetary chain. I ought to
know. I'm married to one —

by MILTON KALETSKY

"T TOMER! Some gentlemen are

I I here to see you!"

*- Professor Homer Higgin-

bottom looked up from the cluttered
work table in his large, untidy labora-
tory. He looked toward the door and
mumbled:

"Why can't you leave me be?" He
turned his head away and suddenly
whipped it back.

"Huh?" he said, bewildered. There
were three men standing there beside
Mrs. Higginbottom. Three long, lean
gentlemen in frock coats, clutching um-
brellas, their solemn faces made even
longer by the carefully trimmed beards
which they wore.

"Homer," said Mrs. Higginbottom,
"these gentlemen are Professors. They
— uh — want to see you."

Professor Higginbottom wiped away
a fraction of the grease on his hands.

"Why certainly," he beamed. "Why,
of course! Come right in!"

He shook hands with each in turn.
Their hands were as cold and limp as
mackerel.

"What are you gentlemen professors
of?" he inquired.

"Psychology," said the first one
shortly.

"Huh?" said Higginbottom. "All of
you?"

"All of us," said the second one.

"Oh," said Higginbottom. "Psy-
chology. Yes."

He waited a moment, then said:

"But I don't know to what I owe
the honor of this visit?"

The third Professor stepped forward
and explained.

"My dear Professor Higginbottom,
you are a subject of much scientific in-
terest to us, and as a fellow scientist,
we hope you will permit us to study
you."

Higginbottom stepped back.

"Study me?" he cried in an injured
tone. "What am I — a freak or some-
thing?"

"Not exactly," said the third. "At
least, we aren't certain yet. May I in-
troduce my colleagues, Professors
Query and Gripe. I am Stefan Snook.
Professor, is it true that you invented
a hypnotizing machine* which happened

* Professor Homer Higginbottom's invention of
the "hypnoray," referred to here by Stefan Snook,
was the subject of "The Ray of Hypnosis," pub-
lished in the July, 1940, issue of Amazing Stories.
It detailed the invention of a camera-like machine
which projected a hypnotic ray. Professor Hig-
ginbottom proposed to turn it over to the police
department, to be used in the capture of criminals,
being as easily carried as a gun, or a camera.
However, unfortunately, the police were not in-
terested, and the invention was turned down. As-
sailed by what he thought was a burgiar in his
home, Higginbottom turned the ray upon a dark
figure, and rayed himself into a coma in a full-
lengtli mirror. — Ed.

116

AMAZING STORIES

to hit a mirror and hypnotized you in-
stead?"

Slowly, Higginbottom nodded his
head, but his eyes were on his wife.
She was gazing raptly at the floor,
standing slightly behind the others.

"Ah-h-h," said Gripe and Query to-
gether.

"Is it likewise true that you were in a
state of chronic hypnophobioriasis for
five days?"

"I guess so," said Higginbottom. "I
didn't know what happened. You see,
I don't know much about psychology.
I'm in the physical sciences, and that's
why I don't understand what you could
want here — unless . . ." He paused
and looked at his wife again. "Did
you send for these gentlemen, Mrs.
Higginbottom?" he asked.

"Yes, Homer. You see, I thought

"If you please," Snook interrupted,
"I'll go into that myself. Professor
Higginbottom, is it true that when you
awakened from your state of chronic
hypnophobination — "

"You said hypnophobibillination last
time," corrected Higginbottom.

"Please. I know very well what I
said. I said hypnocorobination. Well,
is it true that when you awoke you
shouted, 'I've got to get back to the
laboratory! I've just thought of a
practical Rain-Maker!' Is it?"

A slow smile spread over the little
Professor's face. His whole being
seemed to come alive.

"It most certainly is!" he exclaimed.
"Yes sir! In this room, half an hour
from completion is mankind's greatest
machine — a practical Rain-Maker, a
mechanism to cause the heavens to weep
with joy, to assuage the thirst of a
parched earth. In short, my vision
led me to make a miracle!"

' Humbug!'' said Query.

"The man's a fraud ! " Gripe -aid.

"Or," said Snook, softly. "He is
loco del coco — which means we have
come to the right place."

Higginbottom drew himself up to his
full height. The smile had long since
vanished from his face.

"Would you — ah — gentlemen care
for a demonstration?"

Professor grinned sourly.

"Certainly. Professor Gripe, will you
please take this down in your case his-
tory?"

r T"'HE three tall men followed Higgin-
bottom across the room to a weird
machine that seemed to be all gears and
cranks.

"Observe closely, gentlemen. Bend
forward and look at it!"

The three exchanged glances and bent
closer to the machine.

"Closer, much closer," wheedled
Higginbottom. "Let no detail escape
you."

Three heads dropped closer, until
the three beards were scarcely an inch
from the wheels. Suddenly Higginbot-
tom's fingers played on a keyboard, the
machine hummed and the wheels spun.
Simultaneously, three loud screams rang
out. The machine stopped, spun back,
releasing them.

Gasping and wiping tears from their
eyes, the three tall men looked at each
other's beards.

"Gone!" Query screamed. "Eight
years of beard — gone!"

"You — you — " Gripe roared, shaking
a bony fist. "I'll — "

"My God," groaned Snook, "what
happened?"

"Forgive me, gentlemen," Higginbot-
tom shouted. "I forgot to tell you it's
a combination Rain Maker and electric
razor! "

"Razor?" Gripe shrieked. "You call
that a razor?"

"Certainly." Higginbottom edged

HOMER HIGGINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

117

around the long table. "Why take ten
minutes to shave? My machine tears
your beard off in ten seconds!"

"Get me out of here — somebody — ■
before I . . ." Query cried.

"Mayhem! Assault and battery!
Robbery!" Professor Snook was stand-
ing still with his eyes closed and scream-
ing. "Illegal! Arson! Intent to kill!"

But Gripe, his eyes wide and popping,
didn't wait. He grabbed the other two
and rushed them to the door.

"Hypnocranioria!" he mouthed.

Professor Higginbottom listened to
them tumbling down the stairs, a stern
little smile on his face as he regarded
his wife, who had hidden behind the
door. "Now, Mrs. Higginbottom," he
said, "outside — and let a great mind
work."

TOURING the next few days, the
neighbors of the Higginbottoms
were treated to a constant stream of
conversation, at all hours of the day
and night. It went something like this:

"Homer, come down and eat some-
thing?"

"Busy!"

"Homer. Homer! Aren't you ever
coming to sleep?'"

"Not till I'm finished."

From the Man Next Door:

"Well then, shut up and let some-
body else sleep ! "

"Homer! Stop and eat something.
You must be hungry."

"No! I don't let my stomach delay
the march of science."

From the Man Next Door:

"If you don't shut up I'll march over
there and /'// stop the march of sci-
ence!"

Eventually the march of science end-
ed and the Professor emerged from his
laboratory bearing triumphantly a
small iron box filled with a weird as-
sortment of intricate electrical circuits,

oscillators, vacuum tubes, condensers,
coils and several of his own inventions.

"Agatha!" he beamed at his wife.
"Gaze upon the highest product of the
human mind!"

She'was entirely unimpressed. "Looks
like something off a scrap heap to me.
What is it?"

"The Homer Higginbottom Ultra-
Plus Rain-Making Machine."

"The Rain-Making machine?" she
gurgled. "Did you really mean it when
you told those psychologists you
dreamed of a rain-making machine
while you were hypnotized?"

"Certainly!" he snapped.

"Oh dear! Homer hadn't you better
put this away and lie down?"

"Woman ! " he bawled at her. "You've
been married to a genius forty years
and you still won't admit it!"

"Oh, all right," she said softly, to
calm him. "But Homer, dear, what
good is a rain-making machine?"

"What good is it?" he shrieked. "Oh
ye gods and little fishes, was ever a
man so misunderstood as I am?"

From the Man Next Door:

"If you don't stop yelling you'll be a
misunderstood corpse ! "

"What good is a rain-making ma-
chine?" he repeated. Don't you listen
to the radio, Agatha? There's a ter-
rible drought down south. No rain for
five months, crops dying, millions of
dollars of damage threatened."

"Not down south," she corrected.
"Out west, in California."

"Florida, California, what's the dif-
ference?"

"You get mixed up in an argument
between a Californian and a Floridan,"
she told him, "and you'll soon learn the
difference."

"Never mind that, go pack my bag,
Agatha," he ordered.

"Why?"

"I'm leaving for California at once.

118

AMAZING STORIES

Where's the phone? I'm flying out
there today!"

Mrs. Higginbottom watched her hus-
band swiftly dialing the airline office.
"Oh dear," she sighed, "maybe I should
have let him stay hypnotized."

But her husband did not hear her.
He was too busy shouting at the clerk
in the airline office.

"What d'you mean — I've got to wait
two hours for the next plane. I'm in a
hurry. I'll ..."

CHAPTER II
Success

jglGHTEEN hours later, in the early
morning, a gleaming metal airplane
swooped down from eastern skies onto
the Los Angeles airport. As the plane
rolled to a stop, the door opened and a
tall, stooped, gray haired man stalked
lankily onto the ground. Spreading
his arms and drawing in a deep breath,
he cried out exultantly:

"California, I am here! You are
saved!"

The other passengers, descending
from the plane, kept away from him
carefully.

"Old nut," murmured one to another,
"kept me awake all night talking about
a machine for making rain he'd in-
vented. Ha ha! What a lunatic!"

"Taxi!" the Professor shouted, "The
California Fruit Growers' Association.

Half an hour later, he marched
through the front door and into the re-
ception room of the Association. At
the desk sat an elegant young lady,
painted and curled to perfection, ab-
sorbed in the most thrilling part of a
confession story. As she raised her
eyes, the Professor bowed gallantly and
spoke in his most majestic and impres-
sive manner.

"Young lady, I have a rain-making

machine — "

That's as far as he got. The girl
took just one look at him, with his hair
combed in all directions and his necktie
hanging over one shoulder and with
what looked like a pile of junk under
his arm.

"Sorry," she snapped, "we don't want
it."

The Professor stared incredulously.
"Don't want it? Young lady, I'm not
selling brushes. I'm offering to — "

The girl sighed and put her maga-
zine down. Then she stood up and
said wearily:

"Look, Mister. For a hundred and
fifty-five days we haven't had any rain.
For a hundred and twenty-five of those
days we've been having a hundred
screwballs, cranks and crackpots com-
ing in here with machines for making
rain. For fifty days we tried out those
machines, and we didn't even get an
ounce of dew out of the air. So please,
Mister, take your machine I know you
brought and go home."

Higginbottom bristled angrily.
"Young lady, / am not a crank, crack-
pot or screwball. / am Homer Higgin-
bottom! "

He paused, waiting to see the girl's
jaw drop in respectful awe. But all she
did was moan softly and sigh again.

"Mister, if you were Clark Gable,
I'd say the same thing, just as I've
been saying it a hundred times a day,
a hundred and twenty-five days. That's
twelve thousand, five hundred times,
and if I have to say it once more, I'll
go completely batty. Mister, please go
home and don't tell me you have a ma-
chine that positively will make rain."
The poor girl was almost crying.

"But I have!" the Professor insisted.
"I figured it out by mathematics, and
mathematics is infallible!"

The girl threw up her hands and
wailed, "Mike!"

HOMER HISSINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

119

jpROM an inner room a man came
out. There was enough of him to
make two normal men, with some left
over.

"Mike, here's another."

"Jeez," said Mike, "the country's full
of them. Mister, take your junk and
scram."

"But — " the Professor began indig-
nantly. Half a second later he discov-
ered the pavements in Los Angeles were
made of inflexible concrete. As he
picked himself up, the Rain-Maker
sailed over his head and crashed into
the gutter.

"And stay out," said Mike, as he
went back in.

The Professor arose, glaring at the
crowd that gathered around to goggle
at him.

" 'Twas ever thus," he declaimed,
"genius balked by stupidity, brilliance
baffled by blindness — "

A deep grumble drowned out his
voice. All eyes turned upward, widen-
ing in delight and surprise. For over-
head hovered a thick black cloud lit by
gashes of light. Down poured a wild
storm of drops, splashing and splatter-
ing on the startled crowd. For a mo-
ment, they stood bewildered, then with
joyous shrieks of surprise, they danced
about the street, welcoming the first rain
in California in more than five months.

From every window, excited heads
stuck out and howls of happiness arose.

"Rain! Rain! Rain!" they shouted
gleefully to each other.

Mike and the elegant young lady
appeared in a window.

"Rain!" bellowed Mike, sticking his
head far out into the shower.

"Rain!" she echoed in a squeal, care-
fully avoiding getting her permanent
wet.

Standing in the downpour, Higgin-
bottom stared about him wonderingly
for a minute, then he hastily snatched

up the Rain-Maker. Delightedly he
saw that the jolt when it had been
thrown onto the street had started it
going. He held it up and shook an
angry fist at Mike and the elegant miss,
meanwhile shouting above the tumult.

"Of course, you fools. And this ma-
chine made the rain! Look, I'm turn-
ing it off ! "

He snapped several buttons. The
faint glow of the tubes and the soft hum
of the electrical circuits died. In a few
seconds, the rain slowed and stopped,
the clouds thinned and dissolved and
the sun shone once more on a slightly
dampened city.

"It really worked!" gasped Mike.
His head disappeared into the office.
"Hey, Mister Harrow," his voice
roared, "come and look at this, quick!"

Beside the two at the window ap-
peared a worried, weary man. Mike's
gulping and spluttering could be heard
down the street.

"Rain-makin' machine that really
works. Hey, Mister," he howled at
the Professor, "turn it on again."

With quiet dignity, the Professor re-
plied.

"But you said you didn't want it."
Turning away, he started to push
through the close-packed, gaping on-
lookers.

Mike let out an anguished wail and
disappeared from the window. In a
moment he appeared in the street.
Seizing Higginbottom's coat, he begged.

"Aw, Mister, don't hold that against
me." He whipped out a handkerchief
and vigorously brushed the dust from
the Professor's trousers, meanwhile be-
seeching him to start the Rain-Maker
again.

The man named Harrow called from
the window.
"Yes, please let's see it work."
Grimly the Professor refused.
Mike gulped frantically some more,

120

AMAZING STORIES

then gasped an invitation.

"Come inside," he said, throwing the
Professor inside almost as hard as he'd
thrown him outside.

JNSIDE the Fruit-Growers' Associa-
tion's office, a horde of farmers was
pressing eagerly upon the Professor.

"Have a seat," one babbled, pushing
the Professor onto a chair.^ "Have a
cigar, have a drink, have another drink,
have another cigar," they burbled hap-
pily, staring at Higginbottom the way
they'd stare at a million dollars, and
bombarding him with questions.

"Gosh, Mister, how does it work?
How much do you want for it? How
much rain can it make? Have you got
any more of them?"

"Wait a minute, one thing at a time,"
the Professor interrupted. "This is
only an experimental model. It can
make rain continuously, but only over
a small area."

"Well, build a larger one I" they
urged. "We'll supply assistants, a
laboratory, money, anything you need,
anything you want!"

The Professor closed his eyes to en-
joy this vision. "Ah wonderful! Gen-
tlemen, you are true friends of genius!"

"Here, here, just a moment," Mr.
Harrow broke in quickly, frowning at
the eager circle of fruit-growers. "Don't
let your enthusiasm run away with you.
Do you think money grows on trees
like our oranges? Professor Higgin-
bottom, will you please step in here?
Oh, Boyd, suppose you come along
too," he called to a quiet little man who
hadn't yet said a word.

Ushering the Professor into a private
office, Mr. Harrow said.

"Mr. Boyd is our attorney. He will
write out a contract. Now, Professor
Higginbottom, about terms. We will
supply money for a full-size Rain-
maker, that is, if it will not be too ex-

pensive, of course. And as for your
salary. How much do you want?"

The Professor stroked his chin sob-
erly.

"Hmm, let me see." Mr. Harrow
and Mr. Boyd eyed him nervously,
anxious to get the Rain-Maker but
equally anxious to get it cheaply.

"Well, how about two — " began the
Professor.

Mr. Boyd interrupted hasily. "Two
thousand a week? Impossible!" He
pulled Mr. Harrow down to him and
whispered into his ear. Mr. Harrow
nodded, and Mr. Boyd spoke again to
Higginbottom. "Our top offer, Pro-
fessor, is one thousand a week. Take
it or leave it."

The Professor choked. He had been
going to say two hundred a week,
which seemed like unlimited wealth to
him. But a thousand!

"Yes, surely, that's fine?" he bab-
bled. "Where's the dotted line?"

With a shaking hand he scrawled his
signature on the two papers Mr. Boyd
prepared. A thousand a week! Wouldn't
Agatha be proud of him when he told
her that! Now she'd have to admit he
was a genius !

CHAPTER III
Trouble

nPHE next few weeks were the hap-
piest in California's history. Up and
down the highways raced an automobile
guarded by a company of motorcycle
police, for inside that car was the small
model Rain-Maker. Wherever it passed,
cheering people lined the roads, for
trailing behind it came a brief but
heavy shower. And as reports of the
condition of the fruit crop reached the
California Fruit-Growers' Association
offices, Mr. Harrow's gray hair started
turning back to its original brown.

HOMER HIGSINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

121

Once again California farmers
strolled through their orchards, gloating
over the grapes as large as lemons, the
lemons as large as oranges and the
oranges larger than Florida grapefruit,
while the California grapefruit looked
like basketballs.

Meanwhile, in the basement of the
Association's building, the Professor
was happily and busily engaged in
building a full-size machine. Up to his
neck in blueprints, surrounded by
swarms of assistants and towering
masses of machinery, he enjoyed him-
self tremendously, especially as Mrs.
Higginbottom wasn't there to order
him to eat and put on his rubbers.

One bright morning, the Professor
lounged at his desk while respectful re-
porters surrounded him, deferentially
interviewing him. Graciously and will-
ingly the Professor took time off from
his work to answer the questions they
asked, for the entire country was clam-
oring to know more about the Higgin-
bottom Rain-Maker.

"Is it true," one reporter asked, "that
scientists from all over the country have
been here to study your invention?"

"From all over the country?" re-
peated the Professor, sitting up with a
jerk. "From all over the world."

The reporters scribbled hasty notes.
"What about the scientists who claim
you are interfering with the proper
working of natural laws and will lead
the country into a disaster?"*

*Rain usually results from the heating of air
near the ground by the sun. The heated air rises
and expands, because the air pressure higher up is
less than on the ground. As the air expands, it
cools. The cooler air is, the less water it can hold
in the form of vapor; and thus the expanding air
becomes so cool it can't hold the water vapor in
it. The vapor separates out as clouds and finally
falls as rain.

The Rain-Maker projected a ray all around
that excited the air molecules and made them
vibrate more rapidly. This heated them and they
immediately rose, which started the rain-making
cycle described above. — Ed.

Higginbottom pounded an angry fist
on the desk. "Bah! Frightened fools!
'Twas always thus ! Every great mind
has to fight stupid opposition. Well,
my answer is, I shall bend the laws of
nature to my will! I shall do what I
like with them, and make them obey
me!"

He glared around at the newshounds
and added:

"I, Homer Higginbottom, have
spoken ! "

More scribbling by the reporters.

"Then would you say you are the
greatest scientist of all time, Pro-
fessor?"

Higginbottom drew himself up to his
greatest height. "Gentlemen, 1 am a
modest man. I am merely the greatest
scientist of this century."

A uniformed messenger boy pushed
into the room.

"Telegram for Homer Higginbot-
tom."

"Here, boy." The Professor ripped
open the envelope and absorbed the
message in one glance.

"Oh dear, this is awful. Gentlemen,
the Florida Fruit-Farmers Association
informs me they are beginning to suf-
fer from a drought out there, and they
wish me to help them get some rain.
Gentlemen, tell your readers that
Homer Higginbottom never turned a
deaf ear to a cry for help! The suf-
fering people of Florida shall find a
savior in Homer Higginbottom. I shall
immediately stop work on the large
Rain-Maker and quickly build a small
one for the glorious state of Florida!"

"Not so fast, Higginbottom," a cool
voice broke in. Everybody whirled. Mr.
Harrow leaned against the door non-
chalantly.

"Did you read your contract, Pro-
fessor?" he inquired quietly.

"Only the part which tells how much
money I'm supposed to get," the Pro-

122

AMAZING STORIES

fessor admitted.

Mr. Harrow snorted disgustedly.
"Then listen to this : Section Nine, Par-
agraph B, Clause 3a, quote: The Cali-
fornia Fruit Growers' Association shall
enjoy exclusive rights in, use of, and
benefits from the aforementioned Rain-
Maker; and the party of the first part —
that's you, Higginbottom — shall under
no circumstances whatsoever permit the
use of, or aid in the use of, or supply
instruction in the use of any Rain-
Maker based on his patents, unquote."

"Oh dear, is all that really there?"
the Professor gasped.

"Yes! And if you dare send those
Florida bums a Rain-Maker we'll sue
you for every cent you've got!" Mr.
Harrow's harsh tones left no doubt of
his seriousness. He turned to the mes-
senger.

"Boy, take a reply to that telegram:
'Sorry, cannot send any help. Contract
gives exclusive rights in Rain-Maker to
California.' And sign Higginbottom's
name to it."

Then Mr. Harrow glared at the re-
porters. "Listen you guys, clear out
of here and stop taking up the Pro-
fessor's valuable time ! "

A S soon as the office was cleared of
reporters, he snapped at the Pro-
fessor:

"As for you, get busy and finish that
machine. We aren't paying you a thou-
sand a week to tell reporters how smart
you are 1 "

He marched pompously away, leav-
ing the Professor thinking in deep gloom
of that contract. If Agatha ever found
out he had signed something without
reading it ... !

"California's Selfish Action!" howled
a headline on the Tampa Times-Star
that afternoon.

"California Farmers are Un-Ameri-
can!" squawked the Miami Daily News.

"Vicious Monopoly in California I"
bawled an editorial in the Jacksonville
Evening Telegram. "As if any amount
of rain could produce decent fruit from
those stunted half-dead trees in Cali-
fornia. It's just that they're envious
of our enormous, sweet, juicy fruit,
that's all."

For days the Florida papers wailed
and howled, swore and denounced,
growled and grunted, but the California
papers just laughed and scarcely both-
ered in reply. For, as even the Flor-
idans finally acknowledged sadly, a
contract is a contract.

ON ANOTHER bright morning, the
Professor sat again at his desk, con-
tentedly perusing a mass of newspaper
clippings about him and his wonderful
invention. His head nodded vigorously
in approval as he read praise of the
Rain-Maker; then his handsome face
twisted in fury when he read a warn-
ing that the machine was interfering
with the proper working of nature's
laws. He muttered to himself, thrust
the clipping away and selected another.
When he'd read a few lines, his eyes
opened wide and he swallowed agitat-
edly.

"Oh my goodness!" he moaned. And
he had good reasons for moaning. The
clipping read:

"Washington, Nov. 1. — Weather
Bureau officials today released a re-
port on the Higginbottom Rain-
Maker, which had been in prepara-
tion for two months. Based on the
verdict of a corps of expert meteorol-
ogists who went to California to study
the Rain-Maker, the report an-
nounces that Higginbottom's machine
hasn't made rain at all.

"The amount of rain that falls on
this country, the report states, de-
pends on the amount of evaporation
from oceans, rivers, lakes and living

HOMER HIGGINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

123

things. This evaporation in turn de-
pends on the winds and on the sun,
factors which Higginbottom's ma-
chine hasn't influenced at all.

"Therefore, the report concludes,
all Higginbottom has done is to
change the distribution of rainfall
over the nation, so that California
and the whole West were getting more
than their proper share, while the
East, especially Florida, was getting
much less than its usual amount."
As the Professor sank into deep
thought over this report, a storm sud-
denly exploded behind him and startled
him into a wild jump out of his seat.
When he recovered his wits, he recog-
nized the storm as Mr. Harrow and
Mr. Boyd, the lawyer, both shaken out
of their usual calm for once.

"Higginbottom!" the shout rang out.
"Look what you got us into!"

"Huh?" was all the bewildered Pro-
fessor could think of saying.

"Come out here!" Together they
pushed him into the outer office. A long
line of mailmen was marching in and
out, carrying in bulging mail sacks from
a mail truck parked outside. In they
tramped, dumped the contents of the
sacks on the floor, and went out for an-
other load.

"But ... but . . ." gurgled the Pro-
fessor in complete befuddlement.

"Summons!" howled Mr. Boyd.
"Injunctions! Complaints! Claims for
damages. Didn't you see the Weather
Bureau report? They blame you for the
drought in the East, so everybody in
Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, Ala-
bama and Mississippi is suing us for
damages to their crops! There must be
fifty million dollars in damages claimed
against us!"

" W ELL ' what do you want me t0

* * 'do?" shouted the Professor,
dancing around agitatedly and tearing

his few remaining hairs with one hand
while the other clutched wildly at the
empty air.

The telephone rang shrilly. Mr. Har-
row seized the receiver and bellowed:

"What the dickens is it?"

Then he choked and spluttered and
collapsed into a chair.

"Oh, the Governor? Yes . . . yes . . .
oh. OH . . . Ooooh!" He dropped the
phone and slumped down in the chair.
"Water!" he gasped.

They rushed to revive him.

"Oh woh!" he moaned. "Listen, the
Governor says the State of California
is being sued for sixty million dollars
damages by five Eastern States! And
if California has to pay any damages,
he'll sue us for the money! "

A sudden happy thought hit the Pro-
fessor and he shouted :

"Wait! Our troubles are over! All
we have to do is to lend them the Rain-
Maker to end the drought there, and
they'll drop their lawsuits against us!"

The two Californians glared furiously
at him. Mr. Boyd spoke with icy scorn.

"You dare to suggest we should yield
to those Florida bums? Never! We'll
fight ! We'll say your machine is a fail-
ure, that you're a faker who defrauded
us and fooled us into believing your ma-
chine makes rain."

The scream that burst from Higgin-
bottom then could almost be heard
back home in New York.

"What I You want me to say my
great invention is a fake? Never/"

Both his lean hands were now occu-
pied in tearing hair from his unhappy
head. But Mr. Harrow had no sym-
pathy. From his pocket he drew a copy
of the contract.

"Listen to this, Higginbottom," he
remarked, his voice ominously calm and
hard. "Section Fourteen, Paragraph E,
Clause 2b, quote: if the California
Fruit-Growers' Association or any mem-

124

AMAZING STORIES

ber thereof shall suffer any damage,
loss and/or expense directly or indi-
rectly because of the aforementioned
Rain-Maker, the party of the first part
— that's 310a, Higginbottom — shall be
liable in full for such damage, loss,
and/or expense. Unquote."

"In other words," Mr. Boyd grated
at the unlucky Professor, "if we have
to pay any damages to anybody, we'll
collect every cent of it from you!"

The Professor had nothing to say to
that. Clapping both hands to his gray
head which was now rapidly turning
white, he slumped to the floor, com-
pletely speechless. What would Agatha
say if she knew about thisl

CHAPTER IV
The Trial

T>ECAUSE it would have taken all
the federal courts in the country
about a hundred and eighty years to
handle so many lawsuits, it was de-
cided to settle the matter with just one
trial: the State of Florida, plaintiff,
versus the State of California, defend-
ant. And as one state was suing an-
other, the trial had to be held before
the Supreme Court in Washington,
D. C.

The Court's first action, before the
trial, was to impound the small Rain-
Maker and the full-size one, which had
just been completed, and place them
under guard in a warehouse in Wash-
ington.

The day the trial opened, a cavalcade
of automobiles swept in from the west,
bearing Higginbottom, Harrow, Boyd,
and the rest of the California legal staff.
Straight to the Supreme Court build-
ing they drove, through streets thronged
with Californians, Texans, Arizonans,
Floridans, Georgians, Alabamans and
others from the deep South and far

West who had come to see that justice —
or rather, what they thought was jus-
tice — was done.

Here and there the cavalcade was
delayed by crowds jammed around an
angry speaker, denouncing Florida or
California. On other corners, the
speeches were turning into small riots
as infuriated Southerners clashed with
taunting Westerners. For days the city
had been filled with fights and riots, and
the local jails were bulging with excit-
able Californians and Floridans.

Nearing the Court, the party in the
automobiles was recognized and a
shower of bricks and over-ripe fruit de-
scended upon them. "Kill them bums!"
someone shouted, tossing a rock. A
second later, a Californian clouted
him with a bat, starting a new riot.

Not too calmly, the Professor and
his companions dashed up the long en-
trance to the Court and scurried to
safety inside. The halls were thronged
with spectators, muttering and growl-
ing, prevented from battling each other
only by the large companies of uni-
formed guards lined along the walls.

The Californians entered the great
chamber where the trial was about to
begin. The spectators sitting there were
one big bad temper, and worst temper
of all was the Professor's, for if neces-
sary he would have to get up and pub-
licly announce his invention was a
failure.

Suddenly everybody stood up. The
nine justices, solemn and dignified in
their black robes, were filing in, led by
the stately Chief Justice. As they sat
down, the spectators followed suit, mur-
muring noisily.

The court clerk arose.

"Oyez oyez oyez," he intoned. "This
Court is now in session. The sovereign
State of Florida, plaintiff, versus the
sovereign State of California, defend-
ant."

HOMER HIGGINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

125

A T a nod from the Chief Justice, up
rose the head of the Floridan legal
staff, the famed Harold Wallace. Pom-
pously he advanced toward the high
bench, bowed to the Chief Justice in
the center, bowed to the eight other
justices in turn, swept his hand across
his towering brow in a thoughtful ges-
ture and cleared his throat.

"Your Honors, ladies and gentlemen
of the bar, and honorable witnesses.
This case is more than a mere dispute
between two states. It is a matter upon
which rests the fate of a nation, our
nation, gentlemen, our own country!
Shall a mad scientist be allowed to inter-
fere with the proper working of natural
laws— "

"Objection!" interrupted California's
chief attorney, Mr. Boyd.

"You object to what?" asked the
Chief Justice.

"My honorable opponent's last re-
marks are incompetent, immaterial and
irrelevant. Moreover, he is attempting
to create a prejudice against Professor
Higginbottom."

A burst of applause from the Cali-
fornians and boos from the Floridans
swept the room. While the Chief Jus-
tice pounded his gavel for silence, Mr.
Harrow tugged at Mr. Boyd's coat and
whispered nastily.

"Maybe we'd better let him say that
after all. Let the judges think Higgin-
bottom is a dope."

"What!" gurgled the Professor, turn-
ing red.

"Your Honors," said Mr. Boyd, "I
withdraw the objection."

"But I don'tl" the Professor pro-
tested, leaping to his feet. "Nobody's
going to call me a mad scientist and get
away with it."

The Chief Justice pointed a warning
finger at Higginbottom while the other
justices smiled faintly.

"The witness will refrain from mak-

ing remarks until he is called upon to
testify."

A chorus of hoots and cheers greeted
these words. Banging for quiet, and
flushing angrily, the Chief Justice
warned he would clear the court if
there were another disturbance.

"Proceed, Mr. Wallace," he said to
the plaintiff's lawyer.

The Floridan turned to face the
bench again and resumed his harangue.

"Interference with natural laws . . .
causing drought in Florida . . . might
destroy farms over entire nation . . .
taking bread from children's mouths
. . . poor widows and orphans starving
. . . California's selfishness . . . great
invention ought to be used by every-
body . . . etc. . . . etc. . . . etc."

Before he was done, the Floridans
present were sobbing audibly. Even two
of the justices wiped their eyes.

Mr. Harrow squirmed nervously and
whispered anxiously to his lawyer.

"Don't worry," Mr. Boyd assured
him, "When / get up to open our case,
I'll convince the Court that California
is populated by angels."

"With the Court's permission, I will
call my first witness," said Mr. Wallace.
"Mr. John T. Ferrel, principal meteor-
ologist of the United States Weather
Bureau."

A SLENDER studious man walked
" lightly forward. The court clerk
approached him.

"Raise your right hand. Doyousol-
emnlysweartotellthetruththewholetruth
andnothingbutthetruth.swelpyougod ? "
he mumbled.

"I do."

Counsel for the plaintiff leaned on
the witness stand, smiling pleasantly.

"Now, Mr. Ferrel, tell the Court what
the Weather Bureau thinks of the Hig-
ginbottom Rain-Maker and of the aw-
ful, tragic, horrible things it has done

126

AMAZING STORIES

to the weather in Florida."

"Well, it seems that wherever the
Rain-Maker has been used in Cali-
fornia, heavy showers followed."

Smiles started across the faces of the
attentive Floridans.

The witness continued. "And the
drought in Florida began exactly when
the drought in California ended, which
was when Higginbottom's machine be-
gan to be used."

The Floridans' smiles grew broader,
while the Californians looked glum.

"That's all, Mr. Ferrel," said Mr.
Wallace, grinning satisfledly. "That's
what we wanted the Court to hear."

"Just a moment." Mr. Boyd was
advancing. "I wish to ask a few ques-
tions of this witness: Mr. Ferrell, as
a weather expert, are you completely
sure that the Rain-Maker is causing
the heavy rain in California and the
drought in Florida?"

The witness hesitated.

"Well, the science of weather is far
from perfect, and we're never com-
pletely sure of anything."

"Aha!" Mr. Boyd looked up at the
justices significantly. Turning back to
the witness, he barked:

"Do you really think such a tiny,
feeble machine as the small Rain-
Maker could have such a large effect
on the weather in such a huge country
as ours?"

Mr. Ferrel spoke more confidently
now.

"In my own personal opinion, the
Rain-Maker is not responsible for the
abnormalities of the weather at all.
The drought in Florida may be a purely
natural event."

The smiles jumped off the Floridans'
faces onto the Californians'.

Mr. Wallace was on his feet shouting
hasty objections, but the Court would
not recognize him and Mr. Boyd hur-
ried on.

"Then there is a reasonable doubt
about whether the Rain-Maker is re-
sponsible for the drought?" he fired.

Mr. Ferrel replied firmly.

"Yes."

"That's all, Mr. Ferrel," chuckled
Mr. Boyd.

At the table around which the legal
talent for California was clustered, Mr.
Harrow and the Professor grinned at
one another. Their case was won right
there. For if the Weather Bureau ex-
perts weren't absolutely sure the Rain-
Maker was causing the drought, then
Florida could not collect damages.

For only a moment were the Flori-
dans stumped. Then, after a hasty
conference, they fired off their heaviest
artillery and changed the state of affairs
around completely.

"Your Honors!" Mr. Wallace ad-
vanced before the row of justices. "Let
us have the most expert testimony pos-
sible. Let us test out the full-size Rain-
Maker itself before the entire Court!"

When the Californians recovered
from this shock, consternation reigned
among them. Mr. Boyd gaped in the
greatest dismay, then leaped up,
squawking incoherent, futile objections.
But the nine justices considered the
suggestion excellent and nodded ap-
proval.

Turning to Mr. Ferrell, the Chief
Justice asked:

"What kind of weather will we have
tomorrow?"

The expert's heavy brows came to-
gether in deep concentration. Rubbing
his lean chin, he gave his opinion.

"At this season of the year, there's
never much rain. Because of the
drought, there won't be rain for weeks.
Tomorrow will be clear and dry."

"Fine," said the Chief Justice. Ris-
ing, he announced, "This Court is ad-
journed until ten o'clock tomorrow
morning and will reconvene in the

HOMER HIGGINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

127

warehouse where the Rain-Maker has
been impounded."

CHAPTER V
Rain!

'"THAT evening, in the hotel where
California had its headquarters, the
gloom was so thick you could have cut
it into bricks. In one second, their joy
at the weather expert's testimony had
vanished, and the future looked blacker
than the inside of a coal mine at mid-
night.

For as soon as the full-scale Rain-
Maker was tried out, there would be
no doubt about what caused the drought
in Florida, in spite of what the Weather
Bureau said. By noon the next day,
they'd be owing Florida more money
than they could count.

Professor Higginbottom lounged in
his room unable to decide whether to
be glad his invention would be proved
successful or whether to worry about
the fifty million dollars in damages he
would have to pay. He finally decided
not to worry about paying, for even if
he sold everything he owned, he couldn't
raise more than about five thousand
dollars. But when he thought of what
Agatha would say. . .

A ripping, tearing sound overhead
brought him leaping to the window. In
amazement, he stared at the sky.
Where brilliant stars had twinkled in
a clear black void a minute before, thick
black clouds were swiftly gathering and
growing now, while through them cut
great knives of lightning. Down cas-
caded such torrents as Washington had
never seen.

The rumble of thunder rose louder
and louder, crashing, booming, rever-
berating, its incessant explosions com-
pletely submerging the cries of surprise
from the crowds in the street, who scat-

tered seeking shelter.

"What a storm," murmured the Pro-
fessor casually. He yawned and
stretched. "Guess I'd better get some
sleep," he muttered to himself. "Prob-
ably a hard day ahead tomorrow."

Soon his long lean form was sprawled
motionless on the bed. But sleep,
though earnestly wooed, did not come.
Probably it was scared away by the
bombarding of the heavenly artillery
overhead.

Few people got any sleep that night
in Washington, nor anywhere in the
East, West, North or South. Out over
the land the storm spread, bringing hur-
ricane winds, tornadoes, raging sheets
of rain, accompanied by incessant light-
ning and thunder.

When the nine justices arose nest
morning, after a sleepless night, it was
clear there would be no court that day,
unless they swam or rowed to the court-
house. The streets were under two
feet of water that raced along like a
river in flood, whipped to foam> by
screaming winds. Anyone who ven-
tured out soon came staggering back,
battered and bruised by being knocked
down by lashing gales.

The Professor stared incredulously
out his window. Never before had the
elements raged and fought so wildly in
the skies.

A knock on his door sounded faintly
through the crashing thunder.

"Come in!"

Mr. Boyd and Mr. Harrow, clad in
dressing gowns, stamped in. "Higgin-
bottom, a call just came from the court
clerk that the case has been held over
until this storm stops. Nobody can go
out in this weather. Whew! What
a storm!"

"Say," said Mr. Harrow, suddenly
thoughtful, "you don't suppose the big
Rain-Maker got going somehow, do
you, Professor?"

128

AMAZING STORIES

"Impossible. It's locked up under
guard."

"But such a storm! Could the Rain-
Maker kick up such a hurricane?"

The Professor shook his head.

"I didn't have a chance to test it.
I don't know its powers yet."

Mr. Harrow snapped on the radio
and wiggled the dial till he got a news
report.

"Golly, listen to that," he exclaimed.
Through the crackling of static came
a voice:

" — already under four feet of water,
while at Dayton, the entire city has
been evacuated due to the flood. And
here's a bulletin from Wisconsin. Light-
ning struck and destroyed more than
a hundred houses during the night in
the town of Wausau."

The three men stared at one another,
then at the radio which was calmly an-
nouncing more disasters.

"California: The Fruit-Growers' As-
sociation at Los Angeles announced
early this morning that the orchards
throughout California have been so
badly soaked and water-logged that the
fruit has begun to rot on the trees."

TV/TR. HARROW dropped moaning
onto the bed. Even the next bul-
letin didn't cheer him up.

"Florida: Heavy rain and high winds
have loosened the dried-out soil in
many communities and is washing it
away in the flooded rivers. Hundreds
of farms are in danger of complete ruin
by the storm."

Groaning in concert, the three went
down to the dining room. None of
them felt like eating, but there wasn't
anything else to do as long as they
were marooned in the hotel. And so
the day passed in worried conferences,
munching, and listening to the mount-
ing tale of catastrophes reported over
the air.

Rivers flooding half the Midwest;
bridges washed out; dams bursting;
farms and crops washed away by rac-
ing streams. From coast to coast, most
of North America was one great mud
puddle, with business and manufactur-
ing at a standstill. People couldn't go
out, nothing could be moved. With
roads, tracks and bridges smashed,
trains, trucks and buses were all stand-
ing idle and deserted.

Night fell. The only way the people
in the hotel could tell it was night was
by the clock, for during the entire day
it had been almost pitch black outside.
Twenty-four hours of continuous storm
were drawing to a close when through
the whistling, crackling static the radio
brought a bulletin from the Weather
Bureau. After an entire day devoted
to frantic study of weather reports from
observing stations all over the country,
the Bureau had to admit the storm was
a complete mystery. How it began was
unknown. When it would end was
equally unknown. All that could be
said was that the storm seemed to have
started somewhere near Washington,
D. C, and from there it spread in all
directions.

In Higginbottom's room, three men
swallowed their Adam's Apples when
they heard that.

"Higginbottom!" wailed Mr. Har-
row. "It must be the Rain-Maker. It
must have gone wrong somehow."

The Professor opened his mouth to
utter indignant denials, when loud
thumps on the door were heard.

"Come in," he called.

The door opened. When Boyd, Har-
row and the Professor saw who stood
there, they coughed their Adam's Ap-
plies right up again.

"Wallace ! And all you Florida guys.
What the dickens do you want?" roared
Mr. Boyd.

His clothes dripping a torrent, the

HOMER HIGGINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

129

Florida lawyer stared downward ab-
jectly.

"Uh, could we see the Professor
alone, please?"

"What is it?" the Professor de-
manded.

Wallace drew him out into the hall
with a wet hand and whispered in his
ear. As the Professor listened, his eyes
opened, blinked rapidly, bulged, and
finally rolled agitatedly. "Oh! oh my!
Oh my goodness gracious! " he moaned.
"We've got to go there right away.
Come on."

'~pHE Professor dashed downstairs,
leading the Floridans and the puz-
zled Californians who trailed behind.
While the lobby loungers stared incred-
uously, they all hurried out without
coats or hats and disappeared in the
storm.

Buffeted and tossed about, they
staggered in a miserable group along the
street, while the Professor revealed be-
tween gasps for breath where they were
going.

"Last night, Wallace sent a guy to
sneak into the warehouse and start the
Rain-Maker going. When the storm
started, the man tried to shut the ma-
chine off, but the control levers stuck.
,So he tried to pull some wires loose to
break the electrical circuits and got
shocked unconscious. He recovered
only a few hours ago, and came back
to Wallace as soon as he could. Wal-
lace tried to get someone else to go
shut the Rain-Maker off but every-
body's afraid of it. They didn't dare
tell anyone because anybody who got
caught around the Rain-Maker would
be jailed by the Supreme Court for
breaking its impounding order. So they
had to come and tell me."

"Hey, Wallace," called Mr. Boyd.
"What was the big idea anyway?"

"We wanted to know in advance

whether the Rain-Maker really worked.
If it did, we'd win the suit. But if it
didn't we'd lose the suit and have to
pay all your expenses in this trial. So
I thought I'd better have somebody
test it out during the night, and if It
didn't work, we'd at once withdraw our
lawsuit against you, so we wouldn't
have to pay your expenses."

"Well of all the dirty — " begun Mr.
Boyd. But a gust of wind spun him
into a puddle and he swore at the rain,
instead of at Mr. Wallace.

Five minutes later, they slipped into
a dark alley behind a huge building on
the edge of the city, crawled up a fire-
escape and in through a window which
had been expertly unlocked the night
before.

Pausing to blow gallons of water
from their lungs, they glanced around
in the darkness. Somebody lit a flash-
light, revealing a cavernous room,
empty except for the Rain-Maker.

Gleamingly new, ready for action, it
stood mounted on wheels, with rows of
power tubes, oscillators, huge coils and
condensers piled almost to the ceiling.
On one side, a set of generators, trans-
formers and other electrical devices
were clustered. Through it all ran a
maze of wires and cables. A gentle
hum and a faint light came from the
tubes. The whole room throbbed with
the enormous power being poured into
the air.

The Professor broke the silence.

"You shouldn't have turned it full
on," he exclaimed softly, hurrying to
the Rain-Maker. "We didn't know its
powers. It hadn't been tested. What
a stupid thing you did."

He tugged vigorously at the control
levers. When they refused to move,
he darted around to the back of the
machine and carefully disconnected
some wires by kicking at them. The
low hum died away, the glowing tubes

130

AMAZING STORIES

darkened, the Rain-Maker stopped
sending out its potent ray.

Tensely they stood, listening to the
tumult outside. In a minute, the rum-
ble of thunder grew fainter, the light-
ning ceased, the clouds rapidly thinned,
and an astonished moon looked down
on a half-drowned, water-soaked land.

T-TEAVING deep sighs of relief, they
splashed through the pool that
had dripped from them and crawled
one by one out the window and down
the fire-escape. As they emerged from
the alley, Mr. Boyd stopped them.

"See here, Wallace. Even though the
Rain-Maker works beautifully, you've
got to withdraw your suit against Cali-
fornia now."

"Eh? Why?" the Floridan de-
manded.

"Because you've done a lot more
damage to us and to the entire country
than we did to you. If we let out that
you caused this storm by medding with
the Rain-Maker against the Court's or-
der, everybody in the whole country will
sue you for the damage it did."

The Floridans paled and stared at
each other in dismay. Boyd was right.
They had to keep quiet and forget the
whole thing, even though their orchards
were ruined. Bursting with rage, they
plodded along the muddy streets.

Only the Professor was happy.

"Now that I know the Rain-Maker
can produce rain all over the country
at the same time," he announced gaily,
"I'll turn it on every day for ten min-
utes and the entire country will have
a little shower. Every day, same time,
same amount. No more drought to
worry farmers anywhere. Wonderful!
The greatest invention ever!"

"Wait a minute, Higginbottom," Mr.
Boyd said, shaking his head warningly.
"If you do that people will guess that
the Rain-Maker caused this big storm

and they'll sue you also. You'd better
sell the Rain-Maker for junk and for-
get about it, if you don't want to be
held responsible for all this damage."

"You mean you won't use the Rain-
Maker any more in California?" de-
manded the Professor.

Mr. Boyd and Mr. Harrow nodded.

"All right, I don't care about that,
but bow about my salary?" the Pro-
fessor continued.

"No Rain-Maker, no salary," said
Mr. Boyd firmly.

The Professor fished around in a
pocked and dragged out a sheet of pa-
per.

"Oh yeah?" he snapped. "Then
listen to this, Boyd. Contract, Section
Twenty-One, Paragraph A, Clause 7,
quote : The above-specified salary shall
be paid each and every week, whether
or not the Rain-Maker is used during
that week. Unquote."

He shook the paper under Mr. Boyd's
nose.

"Is all that really there?" gasped Mr.
Harrow. "Boyd, you fool, why'd you
ever put that in? Now we've got to
buy that contract. How much do you
want, Higginbottom?"

The Professor thought fast.

"Twenty-five thousand cash."

"Impossible! Ten thousand is the
most we'll pay!" said Harrow flatly.

"I'll settle for twenty thousand!"
conceded the Professor.

"No! Not a penny more than
twelve thousand."

"Eighteen thousand?"

"Fourteen thousand is all we'll offer."

"Sixteen thousand?"

"All right!" Harrow shouted. "Six-
teen thousand! Here's my personal
check." He scrawled a check and
handed it to the Professor in exchange
for his copy of the contract. The Pro-
fessor looked at the check lovingly.
Wouldn't Agatha be proud of him when

HOMER HIGGINBOTTOM, RAIN MAKER

131

she saw that!

Greatly pleased with himself, Higgin-
bottom smiled around at them. Only
dark, gloomy scowls were returned.

"Dear me, why so angry, gentle-
men?" he inquired mildly.

Mr. Wallace pushed a distorted face
up against the Professor's.

"Why shouldn't we be angry? Aren't
our orchards ruined because of your
crazy machine? Isn't our crop de-
stroyed because you interfered with
nature?"

Mr. Harrow joined the attack, shak-
ing the Professor's contract in the air
furiously. "Weren't our orchards also
wrecked by your lunatic invention.
And didn't we have to pay sixteen thou-

sand dollars for a scrap of paper?"

The Professor's face lighted.

"Gentlemen, relax, and be calm," he
beamed at them. "I have just what
you need. At home, in New York, I
have a little machine that gives off a
ray that makes people happy and gay.
Would you like to try — Why, where
are you all going? Hey, don't run away.
Heyl"

But the Floridans and Californians
had had enough of Homer Higginbot-
tom's inventions. They were getting
as far away from him as they could,
and the fastest they knew how. And
they wouldn't stop till they were safely
back home.

Can you blame them?

ATARIE called him "Doe" because those
-*-were his initials. Yes, and he lived
up to his nickname until he became "the
magnetic man" and was forced to earn
the title of "the champion of right, and
the enemy of crime." How Dr. Cramer's
machine made "Doe" a living
magnet in reverse is revealed
in this fascinating story of a
superman who wasn't as super
as he might have been!

by Henry Gade

And there are 5 other GREAT STORIES you'll want
to read next month hy these famous authors: William
P. MeQIvorn * David Wright O'Brien * Robert
Moore Williams + James Norman -k Leigh Bracket!

BIG JULY ISS UE ON SALE MAY

n MAN

ING
STORIES

BY JOSEPH J. MILLARD

The mystery of the lightning has never been
satisfactorily explained. What is the cause
of this phenomenon? What connection, if any,
has it with the mystery of Life on Earth?

A FEW years ago, near the tiny village of
Altamont, South Dakota, a gang of men
was engaged in grading a section of coun-
try road. It was a boiling hot midsummer day,
with the sun directly overhead in an absolutely
cloudless sky.

Suddenly, without any warning, there was a
single flash of brilliant light that completely
Minded the workmen. Simultaneously there was
a thunderous crash so terrible that the men were
Rung to the parched prairie where they lay stunned
for several minutes. When they recovered suf-
ficiently to investigate, they could find not a single
trace of either a cause or affect of the phenomena.

While no one may ever know for sure, it is
probable that these workmen were the victims
of one of the less common and utterly weird ex-
amples of "Jove's Thunderbolts" that appear from
time to time. There have been sufficient verified
cases to force science to accept the fact that light-
ning can and does sometimes strike out of a clear
sky. But that is only one of the fantastic and in-
comprehensible feats performed by lightning.

It was nearly two hundred years ago, in 1752,
that Benjamin Franklin hung a key on a kite cord
and proved thereby that lightning was a form of
electricity. But to this day, science cannot tell
for certain where that electricity comes from or
how it is generated by nature. And that is despite
the fact that science has trapped, harnessed,
measured, disarmed and even created lightning in
its laboratories.

One theory, advanced by Sir G. C. Simpson of
England, is that the breaking up of raindrops by
currents of ascending air builds up an electrical
charge. Another, sponsored by Professor Wilson
of Cambridge University, suggests that the rain-
drops gather charges as they fall through natural
electrical fields. Still other theories blame the
sun or the friction of air on dust particles or the
flow of magnetic currents through the earth.

The odd thing is that all these theories can be
at least partially proven by laboratory tests which

actually create miniature lightning by the method
suggested. Yet none of them explain all the mys-
teries of lightning.

RARE PHENOMENA

OESIDES numerous instances of lightning strik-
" ing from a cloudless sky, there are authen-
ticated examples of lightning in clouds of the cu-
mulus type where there are no raindrop formations
at alt. Stranger still was a storm witnessed in 1927
where for six hours there was a lightning display
of incredible brilliance without either a drop of
rain or a single mutter of thunder. How lightning
bolts could rupture the air for distances ranging
as high as ten miles without the characteristic
sound we know as thunder is something science
cannot explain. As well expect a battery of or-
dinary heavy artillery guns to bombard for six
hours without making a sound audible to human
ears.

On rare occasions, observers have seen another
freak of lightning that defies explanation. That is
the phenomena commonly called "pearl-necklace"
lightning. In this type, the lightning flash itself
appears and vanishes but afterward a string of
brightly-glowing points hang in the air along the
path of the bolt, often remaining visible for sev-
eral seconds. What these lights are or how they
are created is still a dark mystery to researchers.

Another mystery diverges into the realm of
sound. Besides the audible thunder, a lightning
flash produces sound waves too long to be detected
by the human ear but which are capable of jarring
windows and shaking buildings. There is, how-
ever, still a third and totally mysterious audible
result often noticed by researchers but never ex-
plained.

At the moment of the lightning flash, watchers
sometimes hear a sharp, metallic click that comes
even ahead of the thunder. What this is or what
causes it, nobody knows or has advanced even an
acceptable theory although its mystery has be«n

133

134

AMAZING STORIES

probed by many skilled scientists.

Today, man can produce a feeble imitation of
lightning to aid him in his studies, but before the
mysterious might of nature, he still must hang
his head in shame. To produce a lightning flash
five yards long, one laboratory recently used a
building full of costly special equipment that in-
cluded giant transformers wound with a hundred
miles of wire and grounded in tanks containing
forty thousand gallons of oil.

All this equipment produced lightning bolts five
yards long. Yet in a single six-hour storm over
London in 1923, Nature produced more than six
thousand lightning bolts that ranged in length
from a few hundred yards to as great as ten miles.
Even an average thunderstorm generates nearly
ten times the current generated by power stations
serving an entire city like New York.

BALL LIGHTNING

DUT by far the weirdest and least understood
*-* lightning phenomena of all are those known
as ball or globe lightning. These are actual balls
of fire, some no larger than a golf ball and others
as large as basket balls, that appear out of no-
where during some thunderstorms, especially in
winter. These fire-balls sometimes hover for a
moment and then vanish without making a sound.
But on numerous occasions they have been known
to explode violently, noisily and destructively.
What ball lightning consists of, how it is formed
or what makes it behave as weirdly as it does
defies all attempts at rational explanation.

Sometimes such balls appear with startling sud-
denness, either floating in midair or resting on
some good conductor of electricity. They seem to
have a special and annoying attribute of appear-
ing in or oozing into closed rooms inside houses.
At times they fall down out of the clouds during
a storm and roll around on the ground before
blowing up or disappearing.

Some lightning balls, usually the floating type,
are a bright flame red in color. Others, particularly
those that follow wires and other conductors, are
a sharp white in color and intensely hot. At times
such fire-balls have invaded houses and rolled
around, scorching furniture and even severely-
burning occupants of the room.

The red balls are more spectacular. During a
church service in Yorkshire, England, a few years
ago, one rolled up the aisle to the front and burst,
leaving a strong odor of sulphur that must have
convinced the congregation that the devil himself
had come calling. History records that once when
St. Martin, the Bishop of Tours, was saying a
mass, a ball of red fire appeared in the air above
his head and then rose toward heaven.

Ordinarily, ball lightning vanishes or explodes
within a few seconds but some time ago, observ-
ers in New Zealand watched a fire-ball poised on
a finger of cloud in the sky for fifteen minutes.
The British Consul in Hamburg watched for some
time while a purplish ball of lightning hovered

over the steeple of a church.

Probably there is a very close relation between
fire-balk or ball -lightning and the cold purple
flame known as St. Elmo's Fire which is as likely
to appear on human beings as on inanimate ob-
jects. However, St. Elmo's Fire has never been
known to burn, explode or show other destructive
tendencies, although it frequently appears durins
thunderstorms, especially after a particularly sharp
lightning flash.

Sailors are all familiar with St. Elmo's Fire as
the purplish brush of cold flame that seems to
spurt from mast-heads and other jutting points
of the ship, but the phenomena is by no means
confined to the sea. Travelers in mountainous
regions like the Alps are often amazed to see their
own bodies engulfed in the weird flame or to see
bluish fires leaping from their hands and heads.
Airplane pilots notice discharges of St. Elmo's
Fire during storms and explorers in Antarctic
Regions mention the phenomena as very strong.

Naturally, all sorts of superstitions and terrors
have grown up around the weird appearance of
the unnatural flames. And it is probably also
true that many other phenomena that deserve
deeper study are lightly passed off as being noth-
ing but strange manifestations of St. Elmo's Fire.

WEIRD LEGENDS

FOR more than a hundred years, sailors in the
Gulf of St. Lawrence have whispered strange
tales of the burning phantom ship of Baie des
Chaleurs thai is frequently seen between Cara-
quet and Paspebiac. This appears as a bluish
flame rising from the sea, sometimes very small
and at other times large enough to be a good-
sized ship in flames. More than one sailor or
fisherman, grown bold, has tried to approach this
weird apparition but none has ever succeeded. As
a boat draws near, the flame is mysteriously ex-
tinguished. As the disappointed investigator draws
away, the flame reappears. Science says this is
merely St. Elmo's Fire in another of its baffling
manifestations.

The explanation St. Elmo's Fire has also been
given to another phenomenon that has baffled
those who see it. This is the phenomenon known
as the "Andes Lights." Very often, particularly
during the summer, the peaks of the Andes Moun-
tains in South America are lit up by a wcirr] and
brilliant glow that illuminates their summits. Fre-
quently this glow is accompanied by piercing shafts
of Hgh't that arise from the forbidding mountain
peaks to tremendous heights that make them visi-
ble for many miles at sea.

Science says that St. Elmo's Fire is merely the
visible evidence of a constant back-and-forlh flow
of electricity that is taking place at all times be-
tween earth and atmosphere. Ordinarily, they say,
this discharge is invisible but when the presence
of abnormal conditions like approaching storms
or an abundance of foreign matter in the air
creates an increase in the electrical tension be-

SCIENTIFIC MYSTERIES

135

tween the two poles, the discharge becomes faintly
visible.

Eul this theory, like the theories concerning
lightning, fails to stand up before all the weird
phenomena classed under the heading of Si. Elmo's
Fire. The Aurora Borealis, for one example, is a
similar type of luminous phenomenon that fails
to fit the theories advanced for this type of
spectacle. It would seem that lightning, ball light-
ning, St. Elmo's Fire and the Aurora have some-
thing in common, yet they all display unpleasant
characteristics of their own that make general
theories untenable.

Still other weird and unexplained forms of un-
natural light may or may not be part of these
other phenomena just mentioned. One of these
is the appearance of rich purple light in the sky
at times, shortly after sundown. Another is the
weird and unexplained "Zodiacal Light" that ap-
pears as strips of luminous haze in the night sky.
Still another which may bear some relation is that
class of glistening silvery clouds sometimes seen in
summer and which are always exactly fifty miles
high— too high to be normal clouds formed in
the normal manner.

ALL BASICALLY RELATED?

IT may seem a far cry from lightning balls to
silvery clouds, but there is some evidence that
a mysterious and little-known basic energy may
He behind them both. From the time of Benjamin
Franklin, electricity has been considered that basic
energy. At first glance, this seems the obvious
interpretation.

But it is significant that every breakdown of
the scientific theories advanced to explain light-
ning, fire-balls, St. Elmo's Fire, the Aurora and
these related phenomena lies in the efforts of
science to fit electricity into the picture as that

basic energy.

True, these phenomena may be duplicated in the
laboratories by using electricity. In many cases,
they may even be detecfed or measured or af-
fected by the same things that affect electrical
phenomena. Yet they might not be electricity,
as we know it, at all.

Carbon dioxide can be poured like a liquid. It
can be used to extinguish flame. Under pressure,
it can be made to turn a small water wheel or
affect gauges and meters designed to record the
actions of liquid. From those facts, we might as-
sume that carbon dioxide is a liquid. Yet we know
that it is a gas, in spite of its apparent attributes
of a liquid.

In exactly the same way, perhaps the mysterious
energy that can lash from the heavens with de-
vastating fury, or fall as a fiery ball or glow
harmlessly from a bare fingertip may have the
power to affect instruments designed to record
electrical energy — and not be electricity at all.
Perhaps we are face to face with some unexplored,
unfamiliar but infinitely potent natural force more
flexible and more useful than even electricity that
is waiting only to be identified and harnessed.

If that is true, the key to its vast potentialities
lies in the thunderbolt and the lightning ball and
the other weird lights and lightnings about which,
as yet, we know practically nothing. But it is a
field where the amateur may take his place beside
the trained researcher to make a lasting contri-
bution to science. Meteorologists and scientists
seek and welcome reports of such matters from
anyone willing to observe and write his findings.

Who knows but what some amateur, watching
the unrivaled magnificence of a thunderstorm,
may suddenly see the answer to one of the great-
est mysteries of the universe and give to science
a whole new conception of the basic foundations
of life itself?

« STRANGE, BUT TRUE »

COINCIDENCE, as an explanation for mys-
terious phenomena, has been worn thin
through over-use. As a rule, when we as-
cribe a remarkable occurrence to "coincidence" it
is merely a face-saving way of saying "incompre-
hensible." One of these incomprehensible coinci-
dences occurred a hundred years ago in the realm
of classical music and, to this day, it remains in-
explicable.

Johann Sebastian Bach, the immortal German
composer, wrote the greatest music the world has
ever known. Due to its very volume, however
much of it remained unpublished after his death,
in 1750.

A century later the illustrious French composer,
Charles Gounod, published a hauntingly beauti-
ful Ave Maria. However, Gounod was not satis-
fied with his composition and believed that there

was some indefinable essence lacking in the work.

One of his friends discovered about this time
a previously unpublished Bach Ave Maria. As an
experiment he combined the Bach version with
that of Gounod — with astounding results. For
the two pieces fused together to form one majestic
composition of inspiring beauty and feeling.

Note for note, bar for bar, the two versions
blended perfectly. Musicians and critics were
amazed by the almost miraculous harmony cre-
ated by the dove-tailing of these pieces, written
over a hundred years apart.

The two pieces have never been separated to this
day. Combined they form a majestic monument
to the two mighty composers, whose creative ge-
nius spanned the bridge of time to produce, in
mystic affinity, the immortal Ave Maria, which
bears their names.— William P. McCivern.

Smart, are you? Know all the answers, eh?
You've been reading Amazing Stories, we'll bet!
Well, here's your chance to prove you know your
science. Let's have the answers to these "stump-
ers." And if you care to know your l.Q. give
yourself points as indicated after each section. A
score of 60 is good enough to evade the draft —
and get in the Intelligence Service!

TRUE OR FALSE

(2 points per question)

1) Oxygen in air is heavier than oxygen in water.

2) A sponge will hold more hot water than cold
water.

3) Trees in dark, shaded places grow faster than
those exposed to light.

4) The loudest respiratory movements known
are those of elephants.

5) The light that makes the crescent of the moon
visible, and the rest of the disc faintly vis-
ible, is called moonglow.

6) Dry sand is heavier than wet sand.

7) Under comparable, and normal, conditions, a
man's heart beats faster than a woman's.

8) No Americans have ever been admitted among
the seventy life members of the Pontifical
Academy of Sciences, the honorary body of
the Roman Catholic Church.

9) Blood, in moments of intense excitement, may
pass through the human heart at the rate of
four gallons a minute.

10) Polar bears in the far southern Antarctica
can live for as many as fifteen months with-
out food.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

(5 points per question)

1) If you weighed yourself with a delicately
graduated scale, finding that your weight was
varying with every second, would you a) see
a doctor immediately? b) have the scale
checked? c) take the whole thing for
granted?

2) If you looked intently for fifteen seconds at
the center of a red mark two or three inches
in diameter, then looked quickly at a blank
piece of paper, would you see a) another red
spot? b) a black spot? c) nothing at all?
d) a green spot?

3) If you wanted to select a substance from
which you could make one of the 22 amino
acids now in chemical use, would you take
a) a segment of a meteor? b) hydrogen sul-
phate? c) chicken feathers? d) cigar butts?

4) If you saw two chameleons fighting, would
you a) expect them to remain the same color
as the substance on which they were? b) turn

red? c) turn red, plus the color of the sub-
stance on which they stood? d) turn black?
S) By scientific development, you have managed
to harness a bolt of lightning. You then try
to sell this great destructive force commer-
cially, and are offered a) twenty dollars per
lightning bolt b) a billion dollars per bolt
c) ten thousand dollars per bolt d) two
cents per bolt e) fifty thousand dollars per
bolt. On which of these offers would you
know yourself to be getting a fair price?

GUESSING GAME

(5 points per question)

1) This fellow had a scientific theory which has
become one of his, and the world's, best
known. It can be clued-up to your sisters
and your cousins and your aunts. Scrambled,
his moniker looks like this: ITENTNES, his
theory, like this: LAREYIVITT.

2) This stuff, or these things, have the property
of passing more easily through heavy sub-
stances than through light ones. They will
go through lead, but not hydrogen gas. A
two-worder, which, jumbled together, stiil
ought to be pretty simple: RORSAYNUTEN.

3) This bird is the only one that can look at
one object with both eyes at the same time.
All his other feathered friends have to use
one eye or the other to see a single object.
To mix both of you up, we'll add a common
front name to him: TOOLHOW.

4) Here you'll find two hundred million tons of
gold, several thousand tons of radium, and
more than two trillion tons of copper in so-
lution. Two words, jumbled into one: TAW-
HEATERR'S.

DO YOU KNOW?

(10 points per question)

1) What animal is this? It resembles man ana-
tomically more closely than any other animal.
Like man, it is found in all parts of the
world, has a comparatively hairless body, and
skin that may be white, black, or yellow.
Also possesses a tarsal plate in the eyelid, and
a fully developed uvula in the throat. Its
name is spelled in three letters.

2) What can live in colder and hotter tempera-
tures than any other form of life, and are
able to survive at 459 degrees F. below zero,
and 320 degrees F. above zero in many par-
ticular cases?

3) What everyday machine, constantly used, and
at one time more in use than it is now, is
affected slightly twice a day by the gravita-
tional pull of the moon?

(Answers on page 144)

136

AMAZING STORIES

The 1941
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We present here an autobiograpfcicaS sketch of
Edgar Rice Burroughs, popular author of the
John Carter stories now running in our pages

IN the first place, I don't like this assignment.
If J lei! the truth about myself, it will make
dull reading. If I tell all the truth, it will
be very embarrassing for me. But who ever takes
his hair down and tells all the truth about him-
self?

According to the orthodox and approved in-
troduction to an autobiography. I should tell all
about my birth; but unfortunately, or perhaps
fortunately. I can recall absolutely nothing about
it: 1 don't even know that I was there.

Another cruel thing about an autobiography is
that one is supposed to tell the exact date of one's
birth. Oh, well, #hat's the difference? I was
born on Wednesday. I think 1 got around that
very neatly, for how many of you know that
September 1st. 187 5, fell on a Wednesday?

But I can go back much farther than that :
my first ancestor of record (barring Adam) was
Coel Codevog, King of the Britons, who ruled in
the third century. There! You see it was just
as I suspected: as soon as you start writing your

autobiography, you start bragging. You don't
say a word about Stephen Burroughs who was
such a notorious forger and jailbteaker in early
New England days that a book was written about
him. I probably inherited my bent for writing
from him.

Early childhood: Probably the less said about
that the better. Fortunately for me. nearly every
one who knew me then has carried his damning
evidence to the grave. Let it lie and moulder:
that will save me from lying.

Education: I had a lot of it. none of which
stuck. After an advanced course in a private
kindergarten, where I majored in weaving mats
from strips of colored paper, I went as far as the
sixth grade in the old Brown School in Chicago.
That school has a roster that sounds like a Who's
Who: Lillian Russell. Flo ZiegfekL and dozens
of others whose names 1 cannot recall. Then
along came a diphtheria epidemic, and our parents
yanked half a dozen of us boys out of public-
school and put us in Miss Coolie's Maplehurst

Mr. Burroughs at his desk ir, Tarzarta, California
13S

AMAZING STORIES

139

School for Girls! Were our faces red I

Miss Coolie endured us for one semester, after
which most of us were sent to the Harvard School
on the South Side. Somewhere along the cow
path of my education I had a private tutor: then
I was sent to Phillips Academy at Andover, Mas-
sachusetts. They stood for me for one semester
before they asked my father to take me out of
there.

He did. He took, me to The Michigan Military
Academy at Orchard Lake, Michigan, which had
a sub rosa reputation as a polite reform school.
I remained there four years as a cadet, ending up
as second ranking cadet officer ; then I went back
as assistant commandant and cavalry instructor.

Somewhere along the line I went to Idaho and
punched cows. I greatly enjoyed that experience,
as there were no bathtubs in Idaho at that time.
I recall having gone as long as three weeks when
on a round-up without taking off more than my
boots and Stetson. I wore Mexican spurs inlaid
with silver: they had enormous rowels and were
equipped with dumb bells. When I walked across
a floor, the rowels dragged behind and the dumb
bells clattered: you could have heard me coming
for a city block. Boy! was I proud!

After leaving Orchard Lake, I enlisted in the
7th U. S. Cavalry and was sent to Fort Grant,
Arizona, where I chased Apaches, but never caught
up with them. After that, some more cow punch-
ing; a storekeeper in Pocatello, Idaho; a police-
man in Salt Lake City ; gold mining in Idaho and
Oregon; various clerical jobs in Chicago; depart-
ment manager for Sears, Roebuck & Co.; and,
finally, Tarzan of the Apes.

For thirty years I have been writing deathless
classics, and I suppose that I shall keep on writ-
ing them until I am gathered to the bosom of
Abraham. In all those years I have not learned
one single rule for writing fiction, or anything

(Editor's Addenda: During the past few
months, with the publishing of "John Carter and
the Giant of Mars" in our January issue, we began
a new series of Burroughs novels, to continue until
early in 1942. During this time we will publish
in all, five stories of the immortal John Carter
(which, says Mr. Burroughs, will later appear in
book form as the finest of the series of Mars
stories) ; and four stories in the Pellucidar series,
featuring David Innes in that strange world inside
the earth. Simultaneously, in our companion mag-
azine, Fantastic Adventures, we will feature a se-
ries of four novels of the adventures of the popu-
lar Venusian character, Carson of Venus. Thus,
with 1941, we will be presenting, with the excep-
tion of the famous Tarzan, all of the pseudo-
science, fantastic characters of the world's greatest
imaginative writer.

No other author has ever achieved the wide-
spread circulation, over the entire globe, in so
many different languages, that Edgar Rice Bur-
roughs has reached. Literally millions upon mil-
lions of bis books are on millions of bookshelves

EDGAR RICE BURROUGHS

eke. I still write as I did thirty years ago:
stories which I feel would entertain me and give
me mental relaxation, knowing that there are mil-
lions of people just like me who will like the
same things that I like.

The readers of this magazine have been very
generous to me, and in return I try to give them
the best that I can. No man can ring the bell
every time; but he can always try; and your gen-
erous support, as evidenced by the letters you
write to the editor, are, I can assure you, an in-
centive to a writer to do his best for you.

and in millions of memories. Here is a pulp writer
who will live as long in the mind of old and young
alike as pulp fiction will live.

Amazing Stories lias published the work of this
writer before. Notable examples are "Land That
Time Forgot," published in February, March, and
April, 1927, in serial form; and '"The Master Mind
of Mars,'' published in Amazing Stories Annual, in
July, 1927, in complete form.

Thus, for fourteen years, we have been asso-
ciated, and to judge from the praise that is being
heaped upon his recent work, we will be associated
for many more years.

It is interesting to note that most of these pres-
ent stories were written, not at Tarzana, the famed
ranch and post office that Tarzan built, but in the
south seas, in Hawaii. Here where soft breezes
sweep in from the sea, and warm sun beats down
on green palms and yellow sand, have been born
the most thrilling adventure stories of other worlds
Mr. Burroughs has yet written. Long may you
live, John Carter, Carson Napier, David Innes—
and Edgar Rice Burroughs !)

140

AMAZING STORIES

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ISCUSSIONS

1 I M fl B B I

... -veryuodl

is welcome to contribute. Boufluela and brickbats
will have an equal chance. Get In with the gang
and have your say.

THE APRIL ISSUE

Sirs:

Just a little comment on the April issue.
Articles — excellent.
Back cover— superb.

Front cover — looked too much like the cover of a
jungle stones magazine.

The stories— (1) Lords Of The Underworld, (2)
Big Man, (3) King Arthur's, Knight In A Yan-
kee Court, (4) Priestess Of The Sleeping Death,
(5) Invisible Raiders Oi Venus, (6) Killer's
Turnabout.

Why, oh why, must all the shorts have the same
plot? Namely, that someone's going to kill some-
one else in a spectacular way, but gets "bumped"
himself? Also, the illustrations, in some respects,
are very unauthentic. In "Killer's Turnabout" the
illustration has the pilot of the ship waving and
grinning sardonically, while the story claims that
"a wave of blackness engulfed him," and then, the
next second, the ship look off. In "Invisible Raid-
ers Of Venus" has two visible cars crush, whereas
the story claims they crashed i7ivisible. (Oh,
shucks, says the editor, such petty and trivial
things! The point is, did you like the issue?)

And how 1

Jules L, Lazar,
22 Barton Street,
Boston, Mass.

You're right about the first illustration, but on
the second, how could we show invisible cars
crashing? Besides, Wilcox says they became visi-
ble when dented, and we think those cars were
dented plenty!— Ed.

CORRECTION

Sirs:

In Amazing for May, there is an article by
Arthur T. Harris about the partial cure for schi-
zophrenia started by Dr. Egas Moniz of Lisbon,
Portugal, and not of Spain as stated therein.

A. R. Ferieira.

ASy 2 Benevolent Street,

Providence, R. I.

Careful there, Mr. Harris. The eyes of our read-
ers scan your tidbits very carefully. Nothing like
authenticity, you know! — Ed.

DO IT AGAIN!

Sirs :

Turn out a series of issues iike the Anniversary
issue and I'll gladly double my subscription price.
My criticism of this issue can best be voiced by

AMAZING STORIES

111

asking you to imagine the extent of knocks, kicks,

and what have you, circulating in the very center

of a vacuum !

In closing all I wish to say is: {you may quote)

WOW ! 1 ! ! ! DO IT AGAIN— BUT SOON!

Furman H. Agee, Jr.,
2314 Hawthorne Ave.,
Richmond, Virginia.

We're glad you liked our Anniversary Issue,
which was an ambitious undertaking. However,
fifteen years is a long time, and worth an unusual
effort. At least you can't say we didn't try to do
it bigl— Ed.

SATISFIED? AND HOW!

Sirs :

Well, I hope you're satisfied!! I've been ignor-
ing Amazing Stories for about eight months, but
when I saw your Anniversary issue, I yielded to a
sentimental impulse and took a copy home.

So what happens? Plenty! I read it, go out,
get a money order, and here I am applying for a
year's subscription.

I hope (and believe) Amazing Stories will not
change in quality from that of the Anniversary is-
sue, except to improve (if that's possible).

Violet L. Collins,

230V N. Western Parkway,

Louisville, Ky.

Thanks for the kind words, Violet. As for the
deletions we made from your long letter, we beg
forgiveness. We are pressed for space this month.
But we'll answer your questions. (1) Eando Bin-
der is one person now. Earl no longer writes. (2)
Apparently good art work is recognized, even in
Amazing Stories. We are proud that it does get
so much comment. — Ed.

SUPER DUPER!

Sirs:

I have just finished reading your, shall I say,
super-duper edition. It's not so bad, not so bad!
You've got a nice front cover and a nice back
cover. I might add that your stories weren't so
bad. Boy, that Wilcox can write. Urn yum. To
sum it all up I might say it really was a super-
duper.

By the way, will Albert Betts get in touch with
me? We've gotten a little mixed up.

Morton Handler,
3537 Ainslie Street,
Chicago, Illinois.

FAN CLUB IN PITTSBURGH

Sirs:

The reason for this letter is to acquaint all fans
living in Pittsburgh with THE PITTSBURGH
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have an all-round swell time. We have an expand-

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We'll introduce you to Katherine Baum, who is
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fiction fandom!

Dave Elder,
4 Crete Place,
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Is an editor eligible for that introduction? We
might pass through Pittsburgh sometime. — Ed.

THANKS

Sirs:

Thanks a lot for the gigantic new issue. Thanks
for the futuristic picture on the back cover, but
I'd rather have Paul continue his series on "Cities
of Other Worlds." All the same, that picture was
super !

I noticed an ad about John Carter in the June
issue, and that's one issue I'm not going to miss!
Best wishes for your mag's constant improvement.

Richard Earnhart,
4507 Pershing Drive,
El Paso, Texas.

Paul will continue his series on other-ivorld
cities. The Anniversary back cover was just spe-
cial for that issue.— Ed.

A JOB OF RATING

Sirs :

I hesitantly attempt the job of rating the stories
in the April issue of Amazing, for they are all just
about the best you've ever printed.

I'll list first, some of my favorite stories from
back issues. Beginning in July, 1940, my favorite
stories have been: Secret of the Moon Treasure,
Suicide Squadrons of Space, Lost Treasure of
Mars, The Man Who Never Lived, The Synthetic
Woman, Rescue Into the Past, The Day Time
Stopped Moving, The Voyage That Lasted 600
Years, Treasure Trove in Time, The Scientific Pio-
neer Returns, Adam Link Fights a War, Priestess
of the Moon, The Visible Invisible Man, Mystery
Moon, The Man Who Lived Next Week, and
Phoney Meteor.

The April issue is rated by the star (*) system:
Lords of the Underworld ****y 2 ; Big Man **** ;
King Arthur's Knight in a Yankee Court ****;
Invisible Raiders of Venus *** '; Killer's Turnabout
** (if McGivern would stick to humor he'd get
better results, and we fans would flock to the
stands) .

Now for the art. Paul was all right, for once,
on the back cover. Jay Jackson was good inside.
Julian S. Krupa's drawing for Wilcox's story was
the best in the issue.

St. John's Tyrannosaurus was extremely inac-
curate. The beast's body was not scaly or lizard-

AMAZING STORIES

143

like enough, which characterizes all trip dinosaurs.
And don't tell me he's never seen one, and
wouldn't know ! The animal's forearms were too
large and powerful, his head was not large enough,
and in comparison to the men in the picture, I
think his body was slightly longer than the forty
feet usually agreed upon' by paleontologists.

You asked me what we thought of the type
size in the Anniversary issue. Well, I think it's
fine, but don't use it for stories in your regular
monthly issues. Rather, use it for features and
articles. The type for them is too small.

Krupa is the best artist you ever had, and I
think he proved it in the May issue. Get him to
do a front cover.

R. John Gruebner,
2306 N. 40th Street,
Milwaukee, Wisconsin.

Yes, I'm afraid we must tell you St. John has
never seen a Tyrannosaurus. And neither have
you. Scientists have absolutely no proof that the
creature's body was scaly, or lizard-like, insofar
as skin texture is concerned. They have only
skeletal remains, and from them, the existence of
scales could hardly be determined.

Our rule measures the human being in the pic-
ture as \% inches tall. And the beast as about
6yi inches long. Since a man is 6 feet tall, thus,
the beast in the picture is something like 30 feet
long. So, you sec, St. John does know his paleon-
tology! Would you like to see a head bigger
than 6 feet long on a creature only 30 feet over
all? It would be extremely out of proportion.
The only thing we will concede is that the arms
may be a trifle long. — Ed.

WE DESERVE OUR NAME

Sirs:

Congratulations on your 1 5th Anniversary. I
hope you have many more. Your magazine de-
serves its name, it is amazing. It. is great, as
every science fiction fan will agree. I have
searched far and wide for one that was better,
but alas, I could not find one that even ranked
beside it. I have recommended Amazing Stories
to many of my friends who are now steady
readers.

Your stories are super. The Observatory is
wonderful. Scientific Mysteries are educational,
Meet the Authors is great. The Science Quiz is
good — and easy. I like the Correspondence Cor-
ner. Discussions are very good. The art work
is truly amazing, Paul's illustrations being the
best. The footnotes help me.

Harold Kleemeycr,
7103 69th Street,
Glendale, N. Y.

Your comments are. very flattering, and we are
proud to know that you like all ike little fea-
tures we labor to give the book— Ed.

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DISCUSSIONS

(Concluded)

NO AIR IN SPACE

Sirs:

In May Amazing, page 60, how can a flag
flutter in mid-space where there are no air cur-
rents?

I won't say how good your magazine is, be-
cause everybody else seems to think it's swell;
that's my exact sentiment.

Ara Mes.ro.bian,
5115 -list St. N.W.,
Washington, D. C.
Why shouldn't a flag flutter, even in a vacuum,
when it is waved by hand? — Ed.

QUIZ ANSWERS

(Quiz on page 137)

TRUE OR FALSE?

1. True; 2. False; i. True; 4. False; 5. False;
6. True; 7. False; 8. False; 1. True; 10. False.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

1. (c); 2. (d)i 3. (e)i 4. (d); 5. (d).

AMAZING STORIES

145

GUESSING GAME— SCRAMBLED

1. Einstein — relativity; 2. Neutron rays; 3.
Hoot owl. 4. Earth's water.

DO YOU KNOW?

I. Pig; 2. Bacteria; 3. Pendulum clock.

CORRESPONDENCE CORNER

Marianne Ferguson, 20 So. Buff urn St., Wor-
cester, Mass., would like to correspond with any-
one in their twenties interested in science, movies,
stamps, etc. . . . Langley Searles, 19 E. 235th St.,
N.V.C., has SF and fantasy books for sale. . . .
Stanley Crandon, 6$6 W. 162nd St., N.Y.C., wishes
to sell books by Burroughs and Gaudy, at mod-
erate prices; write for list. . . . Herbert Van
D'Elden, U.S.N., Box 7, "U.S.S. Texas," % Post-
master, N.Y.C., has been living out of the U.S.
for several years and wishes to correspond with
intelligent girls interested in classical music and
sciences. . . . M. Schwartz, 1793 Prospect PL,
Brooklyn, N.Y.. would like pen pals from every-
where; will reply promptly. . . . Michael Arthur
Torro, 25 Wall St., Cranford, N.J., wants corre-
spondents of any country interested in sports,
science, stamps, photography and radio. . . . C.
E. Gallagher, Genera! Delivery, Keddie, Calif., is
anxious to buy John Taine's "The Gold Tooth,"
"Green Fire," "The Purple Sapphire," and back
numbers of Amazing Stories; will pay well. . . .
Edmund Vincent Cowdry, Jr., 121 1901 Hall,
Princeton University, Princeton, N.J., would like
to correspond with young ladies (17-20) who are
interested in SF and traveling; college girls pre-
ferred. . . . Thomas "Tommie" E. Townsend,
1524 W. 23th St., Little Rock, Ark., would like
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4 Glenlake Ave., Toronto 9 Canada, would like
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Reed Frederick, 298 W. Franklin St., Ephrata,
Pa., would like correspondents around 17 yrs. . . .
Prof. Chester Hoey, 301 6th Ave., Brooklyn, N.Y.,
wants correspondents. . . . Richard Gookins, 2605
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Dell Andrews, 29 yrs., 41 Retta Ave.. New Miami,
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146

AMAZING STORIES

A CITY ON PLUTO

By HENRY GADE

Here is the story of Profundo, the city on Pluto
pictured in full color on the back cover by Paul.
It is an underground city, peopled by bat-like men

I guess every youngster gets a hankering to visit.
Pluto at one time or another while he's in the ro-
mancing age. Pluto's a heck of a long ways from
the sun, and it's always been a sort of mysterious
place, full of legends, and wild, fantastic stories
that spacemen bring back with 'em from Ion?
outward voyages. I know it hit me that way, and
since I always was adventuresome, I grabbed the
chance when it came along. 'Twasn't hard in my
youthful days to get a job aboard an "outer-
world" freighter. The work was hard, and the
outer fringes of the solar system were mighty
dangerous. But I liked danger, and I went.

Pluto's a mighty depressing sight the first time
you see her up close. She's old, and even further
advanced toward death than Mars. There's
ruins on the surface that would make you gasp
if you could see them. Cities a hundred miles
across, as old, and ruined, as Time itself.

Rut that isn't where the present-day Plutonian
city is. They're underground, a long ways down,
and there's only three of 'em. Profundo, the main
one, is the one I visited. Y'see, life is impossible
on the surface. Cold as all get-out, and outside
of oxygen, which is intoxicatin' when breathed
alone, the atmosphere is almost absent — no hydro-
gen or nitrogen.

Through the ages the Plutonians, who are bat-
like creatures covered with heavy fur and standing
only about three-four feet tall, have been forced
below ground, until now they never come to the
surface, except for grave emergency.

Space ships never land there, except for salvage
purposes, picking up metals from the ruined cities.
That's what the ship 1 signed up on was doing,
and it was just as a lark that I and a couple
others of the crew decided to go down to Pro-
fundo and take a look-see.

We went down in an old elevator, using some
sort of anti-gravity power that still operated, for
about two miles. Then it got stuck, and we had
to go the rest of the way on the ancient stair-
way down the side of the well. Boy, were we
tired. And getting up again was something we
didn't dare think about.

But we forgot that worry when we reached
the city. What a place! The city was a whole
row of connected caves, circular in form, and
startlingly like a huge subway system. In each
cave was a round pit, from which rose a tapering

tower, oddly like a bee-hive. It had hundreds of
openings all around it, and wc figured out later it
was where the high society lived.

All along the edges of the subway city walls
were other towers, all housing thousands of the
bat-men. And on top of each was a glowing globe
of energy that gave off heat.

It was only the central one, however, that
was connected with the surface, and the oxygen
up there. So in a way, the bat-men in the central
tower hold all the aces, and they rule because
of their control of the oxygen.

These Plutonians are a decadent race. All this
machinery and science has been inherited, and
they just use it without knowing why or how it
works. That's why there's only three cities left.
The machines failed in the others, and the inhabi-
tants simply froze to death.

Well, we were looking down at all this when
suddenly we were discovered. Immediately there
was a heck of a ruckus, and before we knew
what was happening, a whole swarm of bat-men
were swoopin' around us, and in a few seconds
they had us prisoner.

I figured we were goners, because these bat-
people are really batty; nuts, if you get what I
mean. I guess hyper-developed races get that
way— their minds crack.

But I wasn't exactly right. Not that they
didnt intend to kill us, but they had a tribal way
of doing it. Naturally we had our space suits
on, and their claws didn't hurt us. But they
hustled us to the central cone and we were soon
before a sort of judge. A lot of squeaking went
on, and we were hustled away again.

Man, the machinery in that central cone! I
wish I knew what it was all for. Mostly air mix-
ing plants, energy rays, and so on, I guess. Well,
whatever It was, it sure was fancy.

However, when they took us to the base of a
long, curving thing that led up in a vast sweep,
we found out it was a sort of pneumatic tube.
It led to the surface, we suspected. So, we won-
dered at it when they dumped us into it and
closed the breech. We'd thought we were to he
executed. And so did the Plutonians ! Y'see, being
shot to the surface means death ! But we had
space suits . . .

A good joke on them . . . an' lucky for is, eh?
You can bet we didn't try it again!

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this icy, distant world, the only p!a«.«s for « is underground.
It is an amazing world of cavern-cities. ^~r|«e men, and
greatly advanced science. (See page 146 fc details )

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Full text of "Amazing Stories v15n06 1941 06 Cape1736"

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